


The War Unseen

by lifeofsnark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Demons, F/M, Ghouls, God - Freeform, Impala, Supernatural - Freeform, Witches, curse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-08 13:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3210770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeofsnark/pseuds/lifeofsnark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchester brothers bring Kate (OC) into the fold after a chance meeting on a hunt. She must work through the baggage of her past while assisting the brothers with cases large and small. Most chapters are written on a case-by-case, clue-by-clue basis. Things get complicated as things often do- Sam gets cursed, Dean and Kate develop feelings, and God decides to wipe out humanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Kate looked up from the laptop screen, glancing around the library as she stretched. Sam and Dean had her looking for a new case. They were all getting a bad case of cabin fever; it had been over a fortnight since they’d had a case, and that was a simple salt and burn.  She had confiscated both Sam and Deans ipods after enduring the Battle of the Genres ringing through the bunker

Picking up the laptop, she wandered into the kitchen.  Dean stood at the stove, a wooden spoon knocking into the side of the frying pan as he stirred. “I think I’ve found a case,” Kate told him, sliding onto a bar stool and turning her laptop around so he could take a look. Dean passed her a spoon, a noodle and a few vegetables balanced on it. She chewed while he read, looking thoughtful. “Add some garlic” she said finally.

“To cashew chicken stir fry?” he asked, looking aghast.

“Yep. It’ll add flavor without adding more salt to the soy sauce” she responded. “So, do we have a case?” she asked as he shook garlic into the pan.

“I don’t know, Kate” he responded. “People fall into comas all the time. It could just be a sick town.”

“Right, that’s what I thought at first too” she replied, her brow wrinkling between her eyes as she focused. “But when the vics eventually die, they have unexplainable trauma on their bodies.”

She turned the laptop around again. “See, this man was fine until his death, when they discovered that every major bone in his body was broken, like he had fallen out of a high window.” She clicked to a new screen; Dean’s eyes began to take on that intense, interested look they always got at the beginning of a new case. “This lady was the third victim.  She died of exsanguination from two deep slashes to her wrists. But being in a coma, she couldn’t have done it herself. Another died from a gunshot to the temple inside a high security hospice facility.”

“Sam!” Dean hollered. “We got ourselves a case!”

Sam stuck his head into the kitchen and took the plate Dean passed him. “Yeah? What are we looking at?”

“Dunno yet,” Kate mumbled around a mouthful of stir fry. “We’ve got coma victims dying in mysterious ways outside Savannah, Georgia.”

“Awesome.” Dean stated, eating while leaning against the counter. “We’ll leave in the morning.” He walked out, presumably to pack.

Kate and Sam looked at each other, and glanced at the dirty dishes. Sam rolled his eyes, Kate sighed, and they each knocked a fist against their open palm in the time-honored tradition of rock, paper, scissors-loser cleans. Sam lost, and grumpily started filling the sink up with sudsy water. Kate took pity on him and wiped down the counters and helped him put the pans away in companionable silence.

 

 

The Impala growled in the morning hush, thick steam wafting from the tailpipe. Kate dropped her beat up leather duffel in the trunk, slamming it shut afterwards. Dean was already in the car, eager to be on the road again. He rubbed his hand lovingly over the dash. “Baby’s ready to go this mornin’” he said happily.

Kate slid into the backseat through the passenger-side door. “I would like the record to show that I beat goldilocks out of the house this morning” she stated.

The garage door slammed, and Sam appeared with three travel mugs balanced in his large hands. “Tardiness excused,” Kate said to him with a grin, grabbing a mug from him. The Impala bounced as Sam folded himself into the front. Dean had the car rolling back before Sam had even strapped himself in.

“What’s the rush, Dean?” Sam asked, exasperated.

“Don’t you feel it Sammy?” Dean smirked, jamming a cassette into the player. “It’s gonna be a good case.”

“Quiet Riot? The sun isn’t even up yet!” Sam complained, scooting down so he could rest his head against the back of the seat, his knees resting against the glove box.

Dean thought for a second, and switched the tape to Clearance Clearwater Revival. “Alright, Sammy. Maybe you’ll be in a better mood after some shut eye. Blues rock always did put you out.”

Sam harrumphed, resting his head between the seat back and the car frame. After a few songs his breathing evened out, his jaw losing its tension. Kate sat in the back, watching Dean tap on the steering wheel as he occasionally hummed a few bars of music. When the sun started to come up, Kate shifted her weight against the door, her legs curled underneath her on the smooth leather seats.

Dean glanced back at Kate in the rearview for what felt like the hundredth time this morning. He didn’t understand her, even after living with her in the bunker for several months, and that bugged him.  It was like a mental itching that never quite went away. She was capable of sitting still for hours, but she constantly radiated a sense of just-contained awareness; it was as though she had a low-level electric current running through her. She never complained on stakeouts or long drives, always content to sit in the backseat behind Sam and take in her surroundings.  She never slept on car rides, and Dean just didn't get it.

One trip he’d finally given in to his curiosity and asked if she didn’t trust his driving abilities. _No, you have excellent reflexes and are constantly observant. Of course I trust you to drive_ she had responded, and then had turned to stare out the window again.  It didn’t matter whether or not he played music; she would watch the road or the scenery go by, occasionally pointing our something she found interesting. Sammy said she did the same thing when he drove.

The Impala rolled through the day, its three passengers having fallen easily into their usual road trip routines. The roads curved on, connecting towns together in a complex vascular system pumping from corner to corner of the country, the classic car a veteran of the asphalt.

Ten hours into the trip, Dean pulls into a nondescript gas station somewhere outside Nashville, Tennessee. He shook Sammy awake and dropped the keys into his lap, then strode into the station. Kate hopped out and watched the pump, touching her toes and doing a few stretches while she waited for the boys to get back.

“You cheer or something?” Dean called to her.  She caught the bottle of water he threw at her head, broke the seal, and took a drink.

“Nope. Did Charlie care when you dropped Jack off with her?”

Dean scowled at the mention of Kate’s beloved mutt, Jack Daniels. “No, she loves that damn thing. Told me she might just keep him this time.” He scowled.

Kate smiled at him.  Dean had bitched when she refused to get rid of her dog, saying that hunters who are always on the road can’t have pets. She had insisted; it was her only condition she had for moving into the bunker with the Winchesters. Now, though, the canine spent more nights in Dean’s room than he did in hers.

“Jealous of his luck with the ladies?” Kate teased.

“Dog’s got no balls, of course I’m not.” Dean bit into a burger and passed her a plastic bag. “Got ya a grilled cheese.”

Kate unwrapped her sandwich and leaned against the Impala, chewing. About ten minutes later they were back on the road, Sammy behind the wheel. It was quiet, no music playing.  Apparently Sam’s music preferences were not available on tape; no surprise there. The drove through twilight and into the dark, the tone of the Impala’s engine rising and falling as Sam smoothly switched gears. Kate rode in the back, her hair tied away from her pale over face, calmly watching out the windows.

“Do you miss it?” Kate finally asked.

Sam raised his eyebrows without turning to her; it was unusual for Kate to ask them personal questions.

“Miss what?” he asked.

“School. Having a structured life,” she responded, turning from the darkness outside her window to look at the back of Sam’s chestnut head.

“Sometimes. Although I’ve been away from college longer than you have” he replied.

“I’ve been away three years.  I’d have my PhD now if I had stayed,” she responded quietly. Dean shifted in his seat, and there was a pause in the conversation while he settled. “I guess you would have a law practice by now” she finished. The brothers had told her bits and pieces of their past over the few months she had been with them.

Sam was quiet.  He wanted to see if she would say more. After a moment, she continued, “I think I am doing more good this way.  I loved what I was doing; I miss working in the lab. I was applying to research micro-sea-level change in the Chesapeake region… but doing this I am helping people. We make a difference in the lives of the few people we save.” Kate went quiet again, turning her face to the sky.  They were in rural Georgia now, and there was no light pollution to come between her and the cold anathema of the stars.

Sam thought about the woman riding in the back.  He was glad she had come to live with them; though she was several years younger than him and Dean it was nice.  Kate looked at the world differently than he and Dean did, she lent a perspective to hunting that he hadn’t had in years.

 

The sun was just coming up when the Impala rolled into the suburbs of Savannah. “What’s the plan, guys?” Kate asked as she stiffly climbed out of the car.

“I thought we’d split up,” said Dean.

“Yeah? You and Daphne gonna go look around, Fred?” teased Kate. “That’s real original.”

“No, I thought you could break your scrubs out and look around the hospice facility while Sam and I talk to the local law.”

“Oh.  Good plan.” Kate grabbed her bag and went into the fast food joint to change.

After being dropped off, Kate slipped into the facility behind another nurse who keyed herself into the employee entrance.

“Hi, I’m Jamie,” she shook the petite woman’s hand.

“Linda” the nurse replied. “You here from the temp agency?”

“Oh, yes,” replied Kate. “I guess some people here have quit recently?”

Linda led the way to the nurse’s station and began flipping through charts. “Yes, we’ve had an awful time.  Two of our coma patients died suspiciously, and some of the younger girls couldn’t take it.” Linda looked at ‘Jamie’ quizzically.

“Won’t bother me,” she replied. Linda took her pile of charts and hurried towards one of the rooms.

After checking to make sure no one was around, Kate pulled out her EMF reader and started walking through the rooms of the facility. Most of the charts she read said that the patients were there long term; the majority dependent on machinery for their survival. Eventually, she came to the morgue door and slipped inside. Pulling open the doors, she finally located the woman who had died of blood loss. The EMF stayed quiet. “Not a ghost, then” Kate murmured.

After closing up the refrigerated drawer, Kate snagged the vics chart and furtively made photocopies. Holding them tight to her side, she slipped out the back door and called Dean.

“Agent Young,” he answered in his clipped FBI voice.

“Styx? Nice. I’ve got the chart and I’m ready to meet up.  How’s things on your end?”

“Copy that.  Thanks for the update,” Clearly someone was around who could hear him. “Be there soon.”

About twenty minutes later Kate could hear the low rumble of the Impala as the boys pulled into the lot.  She slid into her seat, and they set off again. “No EMF in the place, including the morgue” she informed them. “But I got a copy of the chart.” She flipped through it.

“Her name was Molly.  No alcohol in her system when she was brought in, just allergy medications and Diphenhydramine. That’s the active ingredient in a bunch of sleeping pills,” she explained.

Sam turned to give her a _look._ Raising an eyebrow, Kate just shrugged at him. “Could be worse,” she defended herself. Thinking back to his own experience with addiction, Sam was forced to agree.

“We got nothing from the sheriff,” Dean stated.  “These people didn’t know each other, didn’t have a record, and were all clean of hard drugs and alcohol. Regular Joes.” Dean seemed offended by the idea.

“So now what?” Kate mumbled through a yawn. It had been well over twenty four hours since she had slept.

“I think we need to look in these people’s houses.  If it isn’t a ghost, it could be a witch. This seems witchy to me.” Dean complained. “I hate witches.” Sam read him the address of the first victim.

After Dean picked the lock, the three fell into their usual snooping rolls. Sam went through the vic’s laptop, Dean checked for hex bags, and Kate took in everything else.

After about an hour, Sam called, “I don’t see anything weird on the computer. This guy was happy in his life, work was going well. He was on all kinds of social media, posting a lot.”

Dean came in from the bedroom. “No hex bags that I can find.  I even dissected the man’s mattress.” He looked slightly disgusted by himself.

Kate made her report. “He liked mystery movies, but nothing occult. He had one bottle of booze, but the date stamp on it is from over a year ago. No sign of a woman being in the house.  He had prescriptions for Lipitor, Ambien, and an antibiotic. Nothing suspicious. Just your average single middle-aged man.

“I wonder what the antibiotic was for?” mused Sam.

“I don’t know. He didn’t have any wounds, according to the coroner’s report,” said Dean.

“The script was a few months old, anyway,” said Kate. She sighed. “I think we need to call it a day, boys.”

In agreement, the dragged themselves into the car and headed for the nearest motel. After checking them in, Dean came back to the car with the keys. “They don’t have rollaway beds here, Kate, so looks like it’s the couch for you. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Kate shrugged. _It doesn’t really matter_ she thought to herself. _I’m not going to get much sleep anyway._ She had always had trouble sleeping, even when she was a kid. Her insomnia had only gotten worse when she was in college, stressed about her schooling and relationships. Then, after the way her boyfriend died… well it felt like she spent more of her nights awake than not.

They trooped into the room. After dropping his bag, Sam took the keys and headed out to grab beers and a pizza. “And don’t just get vegetables on it this time!” Dean shouted after him. He lounged back on his bed, flipping through the channels. “Anything you want to watch?”

Kate shook her head, yawning again. Dean raised his eyebrow. “You know, you could sleep in the car,” he drawled. Kate shot him a look that would have cowed a man not used to facing the supernatural.

“I understand that it is an option for most people,” she said haughtily. “I just can’t sleep in the car.”

Dean pondered that.  If he couldn’t sleep in the car he would have dies long before even learning to drive. “Why?” he asked.

Kate shrugged. “I don’t know.  My brain just won’t settle. I’m too aware of what’s going on.” She paused, and he looked at her with his _I know there is more_ face. She sighed loudly. “Sometimes I can hear when your phone vibrates on the nightstand at night.  That’s how alert I am.”

Dean seemed disbelieving. “My room is two doors down.”

“But sometimes you leave the door cracked for Jack.  Last night you got a text around three.”

“Son of a bitch,” said Dean wonderingly. “Is that why you pace around the bunker some nights?”

Kate looked sheepish. “Yeah.  If I lay in bed and keep looking at the clock, it can really mess with me- like I’ll cry and rant and feel really trapped in my own mind. So sometimes I get up and do something. Like bake banana bread for you guys to have for breakfast, or write, or read. I deal with it.”

“Why don’t you wake me or Sam up when you get feeling trapped like that?”

Kate furrowed her brow, sending Dean a glance out of the corner of her eyes like _he_ was the crazy one. “Why would I?” she said, her tone inferring that this was a moronic question.

“Oh, I don’t know Cupcake, maybe so you could get more than little snatches of sleep?” he drawled sarcastically.

“What could you possibly do to help, Dean? I cope, just like you.  I picked up Jack off the side of the road on the way home from the liquor store one night. You don’t get to judge me; I’ve seen the empty bottles in your room.” Kate’s voice started to rise defensively.

“I’m not judging you. Think about the liability you are to the hunts when you show up tired.”

“I haven’t been a liability before.  I wasn’t a liability when Ellen and Jo took me in and taught me to hunt. When I become a liability, I’ll handle it.  I don’t have illusions about myself, those were knocked out of me a long time ago.”

            Dean looked at Kate scowling at him.  Her color was high, a few strands of brown hair that had escaped from the tie hanging around her face. He heard Sam fumbling at the door, and stood up to open it. “This isn’t over,” he shot over his shoulder.

            The three of them worked their way through dinner. Sam changed into his running pants and headed out.  Kate watched him go, listening to Dean teasing his younger brother. She understood Sam; his body was all he had that was really his.  He had been possessed and addicted; he had been fed demon blood as an infant.  After everything, he was trying to treat his body as well as possible. Good for him.

Kate glanced at Dean.  He was stretched out his belly, enraptured in an old cop movie that Kate knew he had seen at least four times. She rolled her eyes and fished her book out of her bag. After scooching around on the lumpy couch, she finally walked over to Dean’s bed and snagged a pillow, ignoring his protest.  He, in turn, stole a pillow from Sam’s bed. Kate hid her grin in the pages of her book.

 

She lay in bed that night, listening to the cars driving by in the parking lot, trying to match her breathing to that of the men deeply sleeping just feet from her. She heard the drip of the leaky faucet in the hideous bathroom.  She heard the rasp of Dean’s scruff against the pillow as he moved his head in his sleep. As silently as she could, she pulled a small bottle out of the bottom of her bag and dry swallowed a pale blue capsule. Relaxing back, she eventually fell into a restless sleep.

Sam woke up and swung his feet over the side of his bed as quietly as he could. In the shadows he saw his brother asleep on his back, head cocked to one side. Kate was a dark curve on the couch, her knees drawn up tightly as she slept in a ball. Walking as lightly as possible, he headed to the bathroom. As he sylphed past the sofa, Kate sat bolt upright, like a spring-loaded jack-in-the-box. She didn’t make any noise, just froze with one leg on the floor supporting her weight, one arm stretched toward him, palm flat, like she was prepared to push him away.  Her brown eyes were wide and mostly in shadows cast through the thin curtains.

“Easy” Sam whispered. She sank back down, and Sam closed the bathroom door behind him. When he came back out, his eyes slowly readjusted to the gloom. Kate was gone, and Dean’s keys had been taken off the table scattered with paper napkins and empty beer bottles.

Sam shook Dean. “Dude, wake up.”

Dean didn’t open his eyes. “You’d better have a good reason for this Sammy” he mumbled, his voice deep and raspy from sleep.

“Kate’s gone. She took the Impala.”

“What the hell? Why?” Dean sat up, rubbing his hand over his face to scrub away the lingering drowsiness. He switched on the light.

“I accidently woke her up on my way into the bathroom- she just froze with this heartbreaking face on, Dean. Like she was beseeching me not to come any closer. What do we do?”

“We can’t do anything, she took the car. I didn’t even know she could drive stick.” Dean cursed. “Earlier we’d talked about how she had trouble sleeping, but this is serious. I mean, we’re hunters.  Haven’t met a hunter who didn’t have some bad nights. But this is worse.”

“I’m thinking there’s a lot we don’t know about this girl.” Sam murmured.

Just over an hour later, a bit after 5:30, they heard the Impala pull in and idle before the engine cut off. Kate came in with a cardboard tray of coffee and a bag of sandwiches. “Breakfast” she said simply, dropping the goods on the small table.  She ignored the pointed looks from Sam and Dean. “On the way here I saw a couple police cruisers heading towards the hospital.  Looks like we might have something.” She went into the bathroom, and they heard the shower trickle on.

“Women, man,” said Dean. “We can’t just pretend this didn’t happen.”

“No, but maybe now isn’t the time for it,” Sam defended. “We have a case, and she’s an adult.  She’s been taking care of herself for a long time.”

Dean looked belligerent, but didn’t say anything when Kate came back out of the bathroom a few minutes later. “When’d you learn to drive a clutch, Kate?” he asked. “You’re truck is an automatic, isn’t it?”

Kate thought about her beloved beat-up old pickup. “Yep, I prefer to drive an automatic.” She laughed at the horrified look on Dean’s face; the tension in the room dropped. “Well, think about it. When Ellen and Jo didn’t come home, I was hunting on my own for about a year. I only need to come out of a fight with one good leg if I have an automatic; for a stick I’d need two legs and two arms.”

“Okay, very logical, college girl,” Dean conceded.

“I learned to drive stick in college. My best friend broke her left foot, and we needed to get her Jeep back to her house so she could switch with her sister. The only way to do that was if I drove.  It was drive-or-die manual transmission training” she joked. “The clutch in Baby is finicky.”

“Racing clutch,” Dean bragged.

“Uh-huh,” Kate rolled her eyes.

“We doing more B and E today boys?”

Sam looked uncomfortable. “I thought one of us should go as a Fed, check out the hospital and some of the next of kin.”

“I’m guessing you want out of the illegal activities? Fine by me,” Dean said. “Don’t have to wear the monkey suit.”

They dropped Sam off at the hospital to do interviews and headed for the house of the man with all the broken bones. “What if his wife is home?” Kate asked.

“Nah, it’s the funeral this morning.”

“We’re breaking into his home during his funeral?” Kate seemed insulted on principle. Dean ignored her.

After rifling through the two victim’s homes, Dean and Kate were still drawing a blank. They went back to get Sam from the hospital and went into a local diner to compare notes.

“Did you find anything in the homes?,” he asked as they slid into a booth.

“Nope,” said Dean as he winked lasciviously at the waitress.

“So get this,” Sam continued, used to his brother’s wandering eye. “They all had that sleeping chemical in their bloodstream when they were found.”

Kate made a choking noise. Dean thumped her on the back bracingly. “So it’s going after people who can’t sleep? Is it another dreamwalker?” asked Dean.

“No, I don’t think so.  This is much more powerful. Almost like a sleeping curse.” Sam parried. “But it isn’t witches, there’s been no trace of them. And,” he sounded exasperated, “the victims take different amounts of time to die.”

They were silent for the rest of lunch, each wondering what this thing they were hunting was. Returning to the motel, they started to research.

“I’ve got something” Kate announced after several hours had gone by.  The light outside the grimy window had turned into the late, golden-honey color of late evening in the south. “The Sandman is a common myth in several cultures- a demigod that comes to people and gives them good dreams. Well, a few references are made to the brother of the Sandman- like the anti-Sandman.  He gives people nightmares that drive them to insanity.”

“Makes sense,” said Sam slowly. Except these people are in comas, not mad,” he finished.

“What if they are choosing to die in the dream? That would explain why one lasted months and the others just a few days.”

“ _Mr. Sandman, bring me your dreams,”_ sang Dean.

“Not funny, Dean,” Sam chastised. “This is the best thing we’ve got. All of the victims had trouble sleeping, they were probably begging for a good night’s rest. And then this guy curses them to sleep through nightmares until he dies.”

“If it’s a demigod, we have to stake it,” Dean stated. “So how do we find it?”

“You use me as bait,” said Kate slowly.  “You use me as bait.”


	2. Enter Sandman 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To defeat a rogue Sandman, Dean and Kate enter her dream in which she recalls her worst memories.

“No.” Dean looked mulish.

“You use yourself as bait all the time. I don’t really sleep, I use all kinds of chemicals to knock myself out, I am his ideal victim,” she insisted.

“This thing is _killing people,_ Kate! We don’t know how he does it, but somehow these people are eventually giving in!”

Sam looked up from his laptop again. “Well… this site say that the Sandman’s brother makes you relive your worst memories until you accept death.”

“Is there any way to beat him in the dream?” Kate asked. “Some loophole?”

“You aren’t going to like it” he said. She just looked at him patiently. “You have to accept it. You have to live it until it isn’t your worst memory anymore.”

Kate’s gaze shifted to the parking lot, but she wasn’t focused on anything. They all silently wondered what their worst memory was. Considering that both Winchesters had been to hell, they had lots of memories to choose from.

“Dammit, Kate.” Dean looked at her, his green eyes deep and sad.

She shrugged. “It’s the job.”

“Wait-“ Kate and Dean swung their gazes towards Sam. “With the Dreamwalker, Dean and I defeated it by going in together.  We had backup. That might make all the difference- we wouldn’t ever let you choose to die.”

“Do we still have some of that awful tea left; the one that let us enter the person’s dream?” Dean asked.

“No, but we’re in the deep South- there’s got to be a place around here that sells real Hoodoo.”

“Um, guys- maybe I don’t want you in the dream with me,” Kate inserted. “Would you want me to watch your worst memory over and over?”

Dean gritted his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “You either let us come into the dream with you, or you don’t go.”

“Who is going to be watching our bodies? We’re in a cheap motel. There’s a security problem with the plan!” she protested.

“I’ll guard you and Dean” said Sam. He looked at Kate evenly.  She had admitted to Dean how hard it was for her to rest; she would probably prefer to have him in her brain.

Dean smirked at her, knowing she couldn’t come up with anything else. “There’s a couple shops on the other side of the city that look like they may sell the real deal. Let’s go look.” Sam told them. Dean grabbed his keys.

It took several hours, but they did find the herb they needed. Kate didn’t trust the guy who sold it to them, but Sam told her it smelled just like the stuff they’d taken to get Bobby back.

It was getting late by the time they were back in the crappy motel room. “Feeling tired?” Sam asked Kate after brushing his teeth.  He settled on the end of his made-up bed, hands clasped together. He waited for a reply.

“No, and you’re freaking me out looking at me like that” said Kate. I’m not a zoo exhibit.” She looked at the packet of tea Dean was holding. “How does that work?” she gestured at it.

I wait til you’re asleep- I’ll try and wake you up to make sure he’s gotten to you. Once you’re out cold, I brew the tea, drop a piece of your hair in it, and drink it down. Then I’m in your dream with you. Pretty simple,” he said.

Kate scrunched up her face. She snuggled down into her nest of blankets on the couch, and Sam made a point of _not_ looking at her. She grinned.

Dean shut off the lights and patted the spot on the bed next to him. “C’mere,” he said, and held a flask out to her. Dropping down beside him, Kate shook the flask. It was almost full. She unscrewed the cap and took a pull of whiskey, making a face. Sam lay back on his bed in the dark, arms behind his head.

Kate kept taking hits of the liquor, eventually feeling the familiar heaviness and warmth coming into her limbs.  Sinking a little farther into the bed, she slowly took a few more gulps of the drink. After a few minutes, she lay all the way down, and Dean took the flask from her. It was significantly lighter than it had been.

Dean looked down at the flushed woman sprawled next to him. Her eyes were closed, but every few minutes they’d open and glance blearily around, watching. He eased a hand under her head, sliding down to where her skull met her neck. Using his index and middle fingers, he rubbed circles there, circling over the tendons. A few minutes later, she let out a long sigh, her body finally losing the last of its tension.

Dean glanced over at Sam, and from the steady rise and fall of his chest, Dean knew his brother was asleep. He settled back against the cheap headboard to wait. The next time he opened his eyes, it was light out. He looked down at Kate in a panic- she was still; he couldn’t see her chest rise or fall. He pressed his fingers to her pulse point and was relieved to feel her heart slowly beating on.

“Sammy,” he called, jolting his brother awake. “She’s out, but I don’t know for how long.”

Dean ran the sink as hot as he could, dumping the packet into the bottom of the insulated paper cup. He let it sit for a second while he pulled a long hair out of the top of Kate’s head. Dean strapped a sharpened wooden stake to his ankle, the point down in his boot. Sam watched, his face serious, as Dean sat on the edge of the bed and downed the bitter yellow brew.

When he opened his eyes, he was looking at a small white house set back from the road. It was cold, and the stars were brilliant overhead. There were thick woods at the back of the yard, and a cornfield across the street. Dean checked to make sure his knives and the stake were in their proper locations. He moved towards the sagging grey porch when he saw the bed of Kate’s truck sticking out from behind the house.

Dean headed around back, and quietly tried the door. It was unlocked. He let his eyes adjust, and quietly padded into the house, looking for Kate. There was a plate of untouched food sitting on a scarred wooden table. Kate’s familiar green backpack leaned against a sagging sofa. Everything was clean, and everything was too still. Dean’s hunter senses tingled.  There was no background hum of the radiator, the fridge wasn’t running, no dogs barked outside. The silence was oppressive. He moved into the back of the house, opening the door to a bathroom and them a makeshift office before cracking the last door on the hall. Kate glanced at him. She was standing at the end of a bed, her shoulders hunched. Dean eased into the room and glanced at the bed.

Kate was also in the bed. Looking closer, Dean saw this Kate was a little younger, her hair lighter and a bit shorter. She was curled on her side like usual. He glanced back at _his_ Kate, the brave woman who had been fighting alongside him for months. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“I tried waking her up. It’s like we’re ghosts here” she murmured. “This is like a fucked up version of _The Christmas Carol._

Dean squeezed her. “I’m jealous if your worst memory is sleeping,” he joked. He heard tires crunch on the gravel driveway outside, and headlights momentarily shined through the window. The back door opened, and heavy footsteps came towards the bedroom. Kate turned towards her former self. Dean looked through the doorway and saw a man dropping his backpack in the kitchen.  The man glanced at the food on the table, ran his hand over his close-cropped hair, and stomped towards the bedroom. He reeked of alcohol, Dean could smell it from a distance.

The man bumped into the doorframe and stumbled against the bed. He snatched Kate by her arm and drug her over the edge of the bed onto the floor. “I thought you were coming to the bar! The boys wanted to see you!”

Young Kate was scrambling to get herself upright, blinking up at the man. “Jake, I texted you and called you to let you know I didn’t feel like coming.”

The man, this Jake, ignored her. “You knew I told them you would be there! They like you.”

“They like to pick on me,” she flung back, finally scooting up the wall to stand on her feet. She was about the same height as Jake, but he was stockier and looked to be in decent shape.

“Oh, and bitch you are, you can’t handle jokes,” he roared.

“The last time I went you and Rodriquez ‘joked’ about him coming to bed with us as a birthday present!”

Dean glanced back at his Kate; there were silent tears slowly streaking down her cheeks. He went to her and gripped her hand tight.

Jake crowded Young Kate back against the bed. “What, you too good for that? You think you’re better because you’re college educated?”

Young Kate slipped around him and headed down the hallway. Jake ran and grabbed her by the arm, jerking her back. Dean pulled the Kate he knew out to watch. Young Kate was trying to tug her arm away from Jake. “I want to go.  We can talk about this when you aren’t drunk.”

“I’m fine!” Jake roared. “You don’t get to tell me what to do!” he kept yelling at the woman in front of him. Young Kate’s eyes were glassy. Dean guessed she was used to scenes like this.

The room faded away, and for a second Dean and Kate were in darkness. “Dean?” she whispered, her voice thin. In the darkness, Dean wrapped his arms around her. Suddenly they were back in the small living room, but it was daylight. Young Kate was in jeans and tshirt, standing at the stove. Jake was on the couch watching TV.

“Do you think we could go for a walk after dinner?” Young Kate asked.

“Show’s on,” Jake grunted at her. Dean noticed he had dogtags hanging around his neck and olive green combat boots laced tight to his feet. Dean scowled to himself.

A few minutes later Young Kate carried two plates of what looked like stroganoff into the living room. Jake took his plate, and Kate plopped down beside him, leaning against his arm.

Jake shook her off. “I’m trying to eat.”

Young Kate sighed and moved down to the other end of the couch. “Could we talk, please?” she asked, muting the commercials. He glared at her and snatched the remote from her hand. “You realize no other man would put up with your crap, right?”

Once again everything went black for Kate and Dean, and they waited. They were back in the sad little house. It was night, and Kate was bent over books and papers at the little table. Jake walked through with a beer. “I’m really stressed about this” Young Kate told him, rubbing her eyes. “And you know about the stuff that is going on with my mom.”

Jake scoffed, “Babe, I care about you, but your problems aren’t that bad.  You’re just in school.” He walked back out, the room going dark once more.

Dean was wondering how much more of this the Sandman was going to make them watch.  He was seething in anger. He had fought gods and demons and angels and vengeful spirits, but he could never understand the depths of depravity and abuse that one human could heap on another. He pulled Kate into himself as they found themselves back in the bedroom. Kate tensed, and backed up against him, moving like she wanted to stand behind him. He let her, the hair on the back of his neck pricking to attention.

Young Kate was in bed again, her wide eyes staring out the window into the night as she lay curled on her side.

Jake came in the room and got into the empty side of the bed. He lay on his side, facing Young Kate. He moved forward and pulled her into his arms. Dean watched as his arm moved under the covers, coming around to squeeze Young Kate’s breasts. She sighed. “Not tonight, please. It doesn’t seem right.”

_Fuck yeah it’s not right_ fumed Dean.

“I only get to see you on the weekends; I’ve been waiting…” Jake’s voice trailed off as he kept kneading under the covers. Young Kate sighed.

“Okay,” she murmured. She sat up and peeled off her ratty tshirt, soft from hundreds of washings. Still under the covers, she shucked off her boxers and dropped them over the side of the bed. She lay back.

Jake, ready to go rolled over her. Dean turned his face to the wall. He heard Kate hiss out a breath, and glanced over. Her face was turned to the door, hands up by her face. Her jaw was set in the way that Dean knew meant she was either hurting or angry. He turned back to _his_ Kate; his Kate who had already lived through this once. She was sitting on the floor, knees drawn tight to her face, sobbing quietly. Dean crouched next to her, reaching out a hand. She scooted away, presenting him with her shaking back. Dean felt more powerless than he had since hell.

Out of his peripheral vision, Dean saw Young Kate’s feet pad to the bathroom. The door snicked shut. Suddenly the temperature in the room dropped about fifteen degrees. Dean stood up, alert. The ghost of a woman clad in a dirty white nightgown was looking down at Jake. The ghost had a black eye and defined finger marks around her throat; a macabre necklace. The apparition grabbed Jake off the bed and threw him on the floor. As he scrambled back, screaming, the ghost kicked him in the chin, knocking out at least one tooth.

Young Kate threw open the bathroom door and froze when she saw the ghost whaling on Jake. The specter never even glanced her way. She took a step forward, and the ghost woman hissed at her. Jake was sprawled, unmoving, on the floor.

Kate grabbed her backpack and tore out the door.

The world went black. This time, a shimmering man, glowing faintly, stood in front of Kate. “Are you ready to end the dream?” He asked, his voice echoing faintly.

“No. Do I have to watch it until it is no longer awful?” Kate asked.

Dean bent down as though to tie his boot laces. The Sandman never looked at him. Dean whipped up with the stake clenched tightly in his fist, jamming it hard under his breastbone. The Sandman flickered for a moment. “Screw you, Sandy” Dean mumbled, twisting the stake hard. The Sandman disintegrated, a small pile of dirt remaining where he was standing.

Dean opened his eyes to see the water-stained motel room ceiling. He sat up, joints creaking.

“Dean!” shouted Sam, capturing him in a hug.

Dean hugged his brother back. “Hey, Sammy. How long was I gone?”

“Over a day. I was getting worried. Did you get the Sandman?”

“Yeah, I ganked him.”

“Well…” Sam trailed off questioningly.

“Well what?” asked Dean, standing up to get a drink. His mouth was some kind of dry.

“What was her worst memory?”

Dean glanced at Kate. She had curled up on her side, so he knew she was truly sleeping this time. He decided he shouldn’t keep this from Sam. Running his hand over Kate’s tangled hair, he said quietly, “Being abused by her boyfriend. And then watching him die at the hands of a vengeful spirit.”

Sam looked disgusted. “Well, that does explain a lot.”

When Kate woke up about an hour later, Sam and Dean had brought food back to the room. She ate quickly, and then they packed up and slid into the Impala.

They drove through the night and the next day, pausing so Sam and Dean could take turns at the wheel. Dean didn’t tap along on the steering wheel, and Sam didn’t complain about the music. They both frequently checked on Kate in the rear-view, sitting in self-contained silence in the backseat. About twenty two hours after leaving Savannah, they pulled into the bunker. Kate grabbed her bag and headed into her room, not making eye contact with Dean.

“Give her some space, man,” Sammy counselled when he moved to follow her. How would you feel if she spent a day watching you at your most vulnerable?”

Dean managed to wait a couple hours. He kept seeing Kate’s face, both from her memories and her intense shame of him seeing that. Finally, he knocked on the door of her room. When she didn’t answer, he barged in anyway. She was sitting at her desk, a blank word document open on her laptop. Dean rolled her desk chair over to face the bed, and sat down in front of her.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Dean.  I don’t want to acknowledge that you know,” she said.  She sounded defeated.

He took one of her hands in both of his. “Then listen up, Cupcake, because I’m going to talk. That man, Jake, he never deserved you.  You didn’t do anything wrong. You are so smart and strong.  You matter.  And you still haven’t given up! Please don’t lose that. And I, well, dammit Kate, I want to do what I can. I’ve had so much help.  From Sam, from Ellen and Jo and Cas and Bobby and even Crowley. Sam and Cas, they’re my family. You’re family now too. You have to ask for help when you need it. All you have to do it ask!”

Kate smiled at him sadly. “That’s the most I’ve ever heard you say at once.  I’m dealing, Dean.”

“Bullshit.” She blinked at him. “You don’t sleep. You don’t open up to me or Sam. You haven’t even really moved in.” He looked around her unadorned room.

“I’ve never done that. Opened up, I mean. Nobody listened.”

Dean pulled her out of the chair and set her in his lap. Wrapping his arms around her, he murmured into her hair, “I’ll listen.” Slowly, she relaxed against him.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate overhears Dean telling Sam that he still doesn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. She takes it on herself to let Dean know just how wrong he is about himself.

Kate shut the door of the bunker quietly behind her. She knew Sam and Dean were home from the last hunt- the Impala was back in its spot in the garage- but she didn’t know how long they had been back.  They could be asleep.

They weren’t; before she made it to the stairs she could hear their raised voices coming from the kitchen. “Don’t tell me to hurry up, Dean! I’m trying to get the bleeding stopped as fast as I can!” Sam shouted.

Kate had never heard Sam raise his voice at his brother when Dean was injured; she hurried towards the kitchen.

“Better me than you, Sammy. That thing was trying to take one of us with it, and I wasn’t going to let it be you.”

Kate froze. Did Dean mean…

“I told you Dean. You aren’t a grunt. You matter so much; you _deserve_ so much from life. I know you can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel any more, but I still do. I can see it, Dean, and it’s getting closer. Just follow me and we will get there. But Dean… god, Dean, you have to want to get there.”

“Sure, Sammy.” Dean sounded tired. Tired to the core.

Kate went up and sat on her bed, thinking about what she had overheard. How could Dean not care if he died? How?

~~~

Three days later, Dean bumped into Kate late in the library.  She was curled in her favorite deep leather armchair, a bottle of whiskey hanging loose in her fingers. A book lay open on the floor next to her, but she wasn’t looking at it.  Her gaze was unfocused and vacant, she appeared to be consumed by her own mind.

“What are you doing, Kate?” asked Dean. He’d been worried about her since their run in with the dark Sandman a few weeks earlier. He knew she still wasn’t sleeping much, this was evidenced in the laundry always being clean, the bunker dust-free, and the records up-to-date.

“Drinking, Dean,” said Kate acidly. He snagged the whiskey bottle and poured a generous tot into the coffee mug he was holding. She grabbed the bottle back.

“Get your own, I know you have some.”

“Why are you up drinking?” Dean asked in a low voice, not reacting to her venom.

“Oh you know, I thought it’d go well with some biochemistry, some light theology- I’m staying alive, Dean.” She shot him a disgruntled look.

He did not approve of her word choice. “As opposed to what?”

Kate caught his gaze and did not blink, her brown eyes incredibly deep. “You know what, Dean. Dying. A prospect that clearly doesn’t trouble you at all.” She looked away, twisting so her head was against one of the chair arms, her legs dangling over the other. “Even after everything, I don’t want to die.  I don’t necessarily relish being alive, but I know enough not to embrace that final plunge.”

Dean had never heard Kate say so much at once.  As she took another swig of whiskey, he wondered how much she had downed prior to his arrival.

Kate continued on, “I’m actually quite mad at you.”

Dean blinked. “Mad at me? I know you bitch about me drinking all the beer, but I thought-“

“God, this is not about the beer! This is about you!” Kate pointed at him, her eyes glittering.

“Why don’t you clarify things then, Cupcake, because I sure as hell don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I heard you.  When Sammy was fixing you up after that last hunt, I heard you.  You don’t care if you die because you don’t think things are ever going to get better for you.” Kate chuckled. Dean was struck by the sound, it was far too bitter and knowing for someone of Kate’s age. For a moment, his heart squeezed.

On Kate lectured, “You have Sam. You have a beautiful home that is _safe,_ and _yours._ Since Sam came back from college, you’ve only really been apart because one of you was dead, or assumed dead. You literally have done everything for each other.  You loved him when he was drinking demon blood, when he had no soul, when he went mad from hallucinating Lucifer. He loved you when you were young and cocky, when you sold your soul on his behalf, when you gave up all hope, when you killed- no matter _who_ you killed.”

Dean was shocked, but Kate wasn’t done yet, “You are family. You are the family that every lost and lonely person on this earth wishes they had because your love truly is unconditional- Dean Winchester, you have the most love of anyone I have ever seen. But you are too consumed in guilt and self-loathing to see that a life with Sam has always been the light at the end of your tunnel.”

A tear rolled down Kate’s pale cheek and paused before dripping onto her shirt. Dean opened his mouth a few times before finally saying, “Kate, you can’t know… there’s so much.  So much I’ve done.”

“You’re right,” she agreed. “But all of it was done for love.  For the love of Sam, the love of family, the love of humanity in general. No matter what shit cards you get handed, you make the play that will make the world a better place for someone.  And that someone is never you.”

They pair fell silent. Kate shut her eyes, her dark lashes highlighting the deep purple shadows beneath her eyes. Dean looked at her, a mixture of shame and admiration and despair churning in his stomach. She looked so fragile in that moment, her skin looking pale and thin with exhaustion, her fingertips faintly shaking from the drink.

“If I have to stay alive, so do you Dean,” he heard her murmur. “You’ve even got someone to live for.” Kate turned her face towards the back of the chair and sank a little more deeply into its welcoming cushions.

Dean didn’t know if she was asleep or not, and he was afraid to try to take the whiskey bottle from her grasp in case he woke her up.  Instead, he sat and thought over everything she had told him.

_‘You have a beautiful home that is safe, and yours’_ she had told him. It was true, he couldn’t argue that.  He also knew that he was lucky to have a brother like Sammy.  _When it comes down to it, what can I do? I can gank some monsters and rebuild a car. Not the highest qualifications there._

Kate’s words swirled through Dean’s head. In a way, her words revealed much about herself. It was clear she wanted a place that felt safe and like her own. Dean guessed that nobody had ever put her first. He added this to the information he knew about Kate. _She went to college in Virginia. She was abused by her boyfriend who was killed by a vengeful spirit. She’s smart. She spent a year hunting with Ellen and Jo before they died, and then a year on her own. She likes animals. She doesn’t sleep. She named her dog Jack Daniels. Her worldly possessions fit in a footlocker and a duffel bag._ Dean wanted to know more.

When Kate woke up, she was still slumped in the library. Her head hurt from the alcohol and her neck hurt from sleeping in the chair.  Dean wasn’t in sight. She shuffled her way into the kitchen, her bare feet cold on the tile floor. After getting a glass of water and swallowing some pain meds, she slowly made her way into the nook Sam had set up as TV room.  Flipping on old Abbott and Costello flick, Kate wrapped herself in a blanket and regretted every word she had said to Dean the night before.

                Dean was up in his room researching Kate- Katherine Jean Monroe. There wasn’t much to see beyond a stellar academic career. He carried the laptop into Sam’s room. “Can you hack into medical files and stuff and run a search for me?”

                Sam turned to him, his eyes quizzical. Usually all of the research was left to himself and Kate.  He wasn’t sure what Dean was up to. “Sure.” He took the laptop. “Wait, why are you researching Kate?”

“C’mon, Sam, just do it.”

“No! This is really creepy, Dean. What are you doing?”

Dean ran his fingers though his thick hair distractedly, pacing behind Sam. “I don’t know. She said some stuff last night that made me think… and then I realized that we know almost nothing about the woman who is living with us.”

Sam nodded slowly, the light from his desk lamp playing over his cheekbones. He shut the laptop. “You need to just ask her whatever it is, Dean. I’m not going to hack into her life. She’s already had you in her head, give her some privacy.”

Dean huffed and walked back to his room. He stood looking at the weapons hanging on the walls, the records on the shelf. He went down the hall to the room where Kate slept and peeked inside. When he saw that she wasn’t inside, he stepped about a foot into the room. The walls were bare, the same pale color as the rest of the bunker. Her bed was neatly made, the blanket the same wool cover that was in each of the rooms when they arrived. Dean and Sam had eventually traded theirs for something different. Kate’s laptop was on her otherwise empty desk. A cell phone charger was coiled on top of the dresser. A footlocker sat at the end of the bed. A water bowl for Jack was in the corner of the room.

Dean wondered if he and Sam had ever asked her to stay with them permanently.  He didn’t think so. He sighed, and went to find the woman who had been at the center of his thoughts all day. She was curled up on the sofa, an old black and white comedy playing on the screen. Her eyes were closed.

“Stop staring, Dean,” she huffed.

“How’d you know it was me?” he asked, curious.

“The way you walk. The way you smell,” she replied succinctly. He sat down next to her on the couch.

“Why don’t you want to die?” he asked, that being the most pressing question on his mind.

She slitted her eyes open. “Because it might get better.” Dean gritted his teeth.  It seemed that unless she was plastered, this woman did not like to talk about herself.

“I’m trying to talk with you, Kate,” he grumbled.

“Are we gonna have a chick flick moment, Dean?” she quipped.

He glared at her. “How about this? I’ll swap you answer for answer if you will work with me here.”

She sat up a little straighter. “Deal.”

_Finally,_ he thought to himself. “Do you have any family left? I know you were reported missing.”

“I do. My parents and younger brother are around somewhere. I saw online my brother graduated from college last year.” She smiled faintly.

_Okay, she’s still checking up on a younger brother. This is good._

“Why are you still hunting?” she asked him.

“It’s all I know.  And it’s something that needs to be done,” he responded. “What about your parents? Why didn’t you go to them after Jake died?”

“Not all families work like yours, Dean, you know that.  There are different types of neglect.  I didn’t go to my parents for anything. If hunting is something that needs to be done, why don’t you want Sam to continue on after your inevitable death?”

“Because he deserves it! It can be someone else’s turn!” Dean knew he had made a tactical mistake when he saw her smirk. That made him mad. “What was your relationship with your parents like?” he pressed.

“Let’s use some examples,” she mused. “As a kid I got scarlet fever because I wasn’t taken to the doctor. At fourteen I was being followed home and around school and even to church by a boy and my parents told me it was _cute._ At sixteen I was cutting myself to deal with the apparent disappointment I was. At nineteen I was on my own in the world.

Now that that bit of unpleasantness is out of the way, tell me a few things you have done that were much worse than anything Sam has done.”

Dean growled at her, and stalked towards the door. Before he left he walked back in stood in front of her, his fists clenched. She squirmed at the anger she saw in him. He backed up a step and said, “I tortured innocent souls in hell. I’ve killed without thinking twice about it.”

Kate cut him off, “Look, those souls were in hell, and the reason they were there had nothing to do with you. So don’t consider them completely innocent. And you’ve killed what needed killing, Dean.”

He folded his arms, the muscles in his forearms rippling. “So why did you go with Ellen and Jo?”

“I helped them with the case, and they told me I had potential.  And I saw the way they were with each other… well, I was pretty burnt out with school anyway.” She took a breath. “Why do you want to know all this?”

“Because you’ve been with us half a year and I know next to nothing about you.” He said brusquely. He searched for words. “You don’t still… hurt yourself, do you?” he asked more softly.

Kate sighed again, a sound of long-suffering patience. “No.  I gave that up when my parents threatened to have me sent away for treatment.” She saw Dean blanch. “Will you try to stick around? Please?” Kate looked up, searching his green eyes. “Please, Dean. It might get better,” she repeated.

“Yeah,” he said heavily. “It might.  But it might not.” He turned and walked out of the room.

That night, Kate walked into Dean’s room. He jerked the sheets up to his collar bone, despite the fact that she had seen him shirtless plenty often. “Hey! What are you doing?” he snapped.

She set a little orange bottle with a white lid on his nightstand.  A prescription bottle. It looked like her sleeping pills from before. “The day you die I am taking a handful of these.”

Dean’s mouth fell open.

Kate plowed right on, sure of her purpose. “You forgot about me in your plan.  You’re going to die gloriously in battle; poets will record your feats in iambic pentameter and sing of you around campfires for millennia, yadda yadda yadda.  Sam will swoop up some girl, ride off into the sunset, and make a bunch of beautiful giant-babies. What about me? I’ll be left in this bunker alone, listening to the echos of people who are no longer here. That would just kill me slowly.” She rattled the pill bottle. “This is the neatest way for everyone, don’t you agree?”

Grabbing the bottle, she left as quietly as she had come, the door snicking shut behind her. Dean sat in his soft bed, his head in his hands. Eventually, he dragged himself out of his room to find Kate.  He was really getting sick of her speeches.

He barged into her room just as she had barged into his. He then immediately spun around and faced the wall when he caught her changing.  Clothing rusted and she cleared him to turn around. He sat down on the bed next to her. “I could learn to hate you,” he said conversationally.

“Yeah.  I know,” she responded. She tentatively leaned her head on his broad shoulder, and his arm slipped around her. “But family doesn’t give up on each other.”


	4. Angel of Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, and Kate discover an angel of Vengeance wreaking havoc in a small town. With Cas’ help, they go after it.

“We have five bodies and no clue what is going on here,” complained Dean, staring down at the half eaten burger in front of him. “No EMF in the homes, no sulfur, their hearts were intact, and they all died in different ways.  What is going on?”

Sam looked up from his laptop, his salad unopened beside him. “The police don’t have anything more than we do- the only things connecting the deaths are that they are just weird.”

Kate was standing by the wall to which they had taped pictures and evidence logs and interview quotes. “Okay. Vic one was a priest who was diddling one of the altar boys- he had his throat slit. Vic two was your average stay-at-home mom who accepted eighty thousand dollars in donation money for cancer she didn’t have- her neck was broken violently, even the tendons were ripped. Vic three and four both had their insides scorched and their eyes burnt out of their heads- one of them was embezzling from a non-profit and the other was a wife beater. And our most recent victim was gutted after a rape charge.”

Sam and Dean swiveled to look at the board; a thoughtful silence fell. “Vics three and four,” he paused, “their organs were burnt?”

Kate nodded to him. “They were; some were completely desiccated.”

“That’s just too strange.  We need to look at the bodies again.”

“Let’s suit up, Agent Banner,” Dean said, slapping his brother on the arm.

“I’ll wear my scrubs, you can let me in the back once you’re in,” said Kate.

“Good plan. You’re better with the autopsies than Dean,” joked Sam, making a retching sound.

“Hey, that guy still had a sandwich in there! I haven’t been able to stomach the smell of tuna since!” protested Dean defensively. 

Kate snickered. “Uh-huh, sure thing bug guy.” The three of them quickly changed and piled into the Impala. Kate slunk around the back of the building while the boys walked to the front desk and flashed their fake IDs. 

Sam opened the door for Kate a few minutes later. “Where’s Dean?” she asked, quickly ducking into the building behind Sam.

“I think he’s setting up a date with the desk lady- he loves playing the noble G-man.” Sam answered.

“…so he’s getting out of the autopsy,” said Kate dryly.

“Pretty much,” he replied, flashing his dimples at her. They ducked into the morgue, the stainless steel tables and storage units gleaming dully under the surgical lamps. Kate began pulling labeled organs in Tupperware containers out of the fridge while Sam located the bodies in their respective drawers.

Sam slipped off his jacket and donned a plastic apron. Rolling up his sleeves, he asked, “So why don’t you mind this? Poking around dead bodies?”

“I don’t know.  Maybe it’s that I know they are dead, so the body just becomes a jigsaw puzzle. I still hate needles, it doesn’t matter what is going on. Ick,” she made a face of disgust. 

They fell silent, concentrating on their appointed task.  Occasionally the body Sam was working on would make a soft squelching sound, or the muscle would tear a bit as he pulled the flesh back.  After a few minutes neither of them noticed the scent of alcohol or formaldehyde anymore.

“Do you know anything about hearts?” Kate asked after a moment.

Sam looked up and blew a lock of hair out of his eyes. “Like you need to run and eat more than french fries? Or anatomy?”

Kate laughed. “Anatomy.” She carried a heart over to the deep metal sink and rinsed it off with saline solution. Walking to Sam, she held it out, pointing to the bottom chamber. “Look.  Is that a muscle scar or …some kind of shape or imprint?” she asked.

Sam took the heart in his bloody, gloved hand and held it close to the light. He sighed heavily. “It’s an Enochian symbol of some sort. We’ve seen something similar by people touched by Cupid, this might be related.”

“It’s on all the hearts, except one of the badly burned ones- and it might still be under there somewhere. Let’s clean up and find Dean.” Kate sketched a copy of the sigil while Sam slid the bodies away.  They put everything back as they had found it, Sam slipped on his jacket, and they returned to the front. Dean was not in sight.

Sam rolled his eyes and knocked awkwardly on the door behind the reception desk.  Dean answered, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand and straightening his navy striped tie with the other. When he caught sight of Kate, he ducked his head and pushed past her out of the door, shoulders hunched. Sam gave him a curious look and followed Dean to the Impala with Kate bringing up the rear.

“We found an Enochian symbol… we think,” Sam informed his brother as they pulled out. “It’s etched on the hearts.”

“Like the cupid thing,” Dean interjected.

“Right. So we should probably call Cas…” Sam trails off.

“Who’s Cas?” asked Kate, confused. “Is he a hunter?” She’d been with the brothers almost six months and hadn’t heard of this person before.

Dean sighed. “He’s an angel-“

“An angel.  You are friends with an actual angel?”

“Castiel isn’t so bad,” Dean admitted. “We just haven’t heard from him in a while, things are a little hectic in heaven right now.”

Kate slumped back and looked out the window. “Right. I’m sure they are.”

They arrived back at the hotel. Kate sat quietly on the rollaway bed, Sam leaned against the walls with his arms crossed, and Dean huffed and bowed his head. “Dear Castiel,” he started out, his voice full of sarcasm, “we’ve found a serial killer leaving behind Enochian symbols on the bodies. So if you could get your feathery ass down here,” he looked sideways like he was expecting someone, “I would maybe dislike you a little less,” he finally finished.

There was an awkward pause.

A man in a wrinkled trench coat and appeared in the corner of the room, his tie backwards and his hair mussed as though he dressed in a great hurry. “Who is she? Should I smite her?” He approached Kate, palm outstretched. She jumped off the bed, knife in hand.

“No no no!” Dean ran into the middle of the room, arms out like a referee. “Cas, this is Kate.  She’s living and hunting with us. She’s a friend. Kate, this is Cas.”

The tension level in the cramped motel room dropped a notch. “Where is the symbol?” the angel asked, his voice gravelly. Sam passed him the sketch.

“This is an Enochian symbol for vengeance. These people were smited by a lower order of angel.”

“Smited?” asked Sam. “So some angel decided to get even with them and just ended it all?”

“Yes.” Castiel nodded. “Deuteronomy 32: 35. Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. In due time their foot will slip; their day of disaster is near and their doom rushes upon them.”

Kate scowled. “So much for forgiveness,” she muttered, turning away.

Castiel continued, “These angels were tasked with carrying out the Lord’s justice. Some now call them Karma. With all of the dissention amongst the heavenly ranks, the orders have stopped being sent out… this angel is trying to carry on his task.”

“An angel of vengeance,” said Dean flatly. “Son of a bitch.”

“So how do we find it? Can you just tell it to stop?” Sam asked.

“This angel has killed humans that were not earmarked by the Lord. He must be stopped or returned to heaven.” Castiel intoned.

“So we are back to trying to find it,” Sam persisted. “It could be anywhere. Be anyone!”

“I can see its true form if it makes an appearance,” said Castiel. Kate was getting used to his formal speech and flat monotone.

“We need to scout the town gossips,” Kate suggested. “All of these people were killed for committing some crime that people just can’t accept.  The town gossips always know who is fucking whom.”

“That’s a good idea. Sam can do his puppy dog thing, and Kate can flirt it out of them,” Dean said.

“Right,” Kate drawled. “Because I am the one known for being so flirtatious.” She glared at Dean.

Sam stepped in. “Look, Dean and I will go to the local bars and diners and ask the bartenders and waitresses. They’ve always got something. You and Cas need to go hang out somewhere busy to see if you can spot the angel.”

“Agreed.” Castiel stepped forward and wrapped his hand around Kate’s upper arm. Suddenly, they were in a public park on a cold cement bench.  Joggers ran by, ipods strapped to their arms or waists. Mothers pushed strollers, toddlers laughed and swung on a playground.  It looked like every day, small-town America.

“Where are we?” Kate rounded on Castiel, not used to being transported in a blink.

“A park on the outskirts of a residential district. We are looking for the angel,” Castiel responded slowly.

“Could you warn me next time you decide to just zap us somewhere? Humans don’t travel like that!” She paced away from Castiel’s seat.

“Yes. It took you thousands of years to even invent transportation. Most of my brothers in the pool thought you’d be much more efficient.”

“You were around in the beginning? And you _bet_ on us?” Kate gaped.

“Yes. Balthazar won that wager. He said you were not terribly bright.” He stood up suddenly, watching a man in a business suit and dark fedora walk by. “That is him.” He fell in step behind the suited man, Kate scrambling to catch up.

She pulled out her phone and hit Dean on speed dial. “We’ve got him,” she said shortly.  “Any idea who he’s going after?”

“Not yet. Let us know where he goes.” She ended the call.

They trailed the angel through town following behind him for several yards. Castiel seemed totally intent on the task at hand, he was oblivious to everything else, his blue eyes focused on the back of the rouge angel in front of him.

Eventually, the angel turned into an older colonial on a quiet, shady street. Kate and Castiel stopped at the bottom of the steps, looking up. “Can you tell if there is anyone else inside?” Kate asked the quiet angel beside her.

He flickered and then turned to Kate. “He is alone. But he is watching, if we go in now he will flee.” Kate quickly texted the address to Sam, hoping he could run it to find the owner.

Kate and Cas slipped into an alley across the street, keeping an eye on the looming colonial in which the angel hid. Kate sat down cross-legged, her back against the bricks. After a while, she asked, “Does this bother you? Hunting down an angel?”

“It must be done,” he replied simply.

“But it doesn’t bother you?” Kate asked again. Castiel sat next to her, his knees drawn up, short silver dirk held loosely in his right hand.

“I do not get to choose my path. I do not make the rules. The orders are heavenly,” he said slowly. “Humans are… to be protected.” He looked at Kate, blue eyes unblinking. It was a bit startling. “You were thought to be the world’s greatest resource. Angels were set with the task of protecting you. We soon learned that sometimes that meant protecting you from yourselves.”

The conversation lulled. Kate thought of all the horror she had seen in her short time on earth- it was amazing the misery humans could inflict on each other- the supernatural could only account for a small percentage of overall suffering.

“Humanity still astounds me,” Castiel intoned.

“Me too,” Kate interjected. “We don’t need demons to make bad decisions; we don’t need any help hurting one another.”

“That is true, but not what I was speaking of. Humans are amazing in their capacity to feel and to give. Sam and Dean were willing to endure eternal damnation to stop the rest of humanity from experiencing the apocalypse.” He turned to Kate again. “During humanities’ darkest hours, it is always another human who triumphs and saves all. I still believe that you are my Father’s greatest creation.”

The silence between them was broken by the ringing of Kate’s phone. “Hey, Sam,” she answered. “Okay.  If we see him, we’ll detain him. Get here quick.” She hung up and stuck the phone back in her jacket pocket.

“The owner of the house is a man by the name of Lee Abrams.  He was charged with brutally murdering his pregnant wife, but the charges were dropped when a key witness went missing. He’s coming home sometime today. According to Sam, he looks like the average businessman. That’s just helpful,” she informed Cas.

“If his soul is dark enough, I will sense him,” Castiel stated, rising. They watched the peaceful sidewalk and street, waiting for the telltale growl of the Impala’s engine. Eventually, Dean and Sam rolled into sight and parked on the street. “Have you seen him yet?” asked Sam.

“No,” said Kate tersely.

“We need to wait until Abrams is in view,” said Castiel. “Otherwise Vengeance will flee, and only I will be able to follow.”

The four climbed into the Impala and waited.  The shadows lengthened, and eventually darkness fell. Dean fell asleep slumped against the window, snoring softly.  Sam occasionally fidgeted, trying to fold his legs into a more comfortable position. Kate sat with her legs curled on the seat; Castiel stared out the window with a predator’s lethal gaze. As the night ticked on, Kate leaned towards Castiel. “Do all of the angel sigils and wards work on this angel as they would any other?” she whispered quietly.

“Yes. They are equally effective on all angels,” he whispered back.

Early in the morning, long after the street had fallen completely quiet, a man turned the corner and started down their street. He was briefly illuminated by the cone of yellow light under the distant streetlight, enough for Kate to catch a glimpse of short dark hair and a dark suit. He walked down the sidewalk, a darker shape in the gloom of the night. Castiel leaned forward. “That is him,” he murmured huskily. Sam shook Dean awake and replied, “We’ll go around back.”

Cas and Kate quietly followed Abrams down the sidewalk and up his porch.  Castiel had his silver blade gripped tightly, knuckles almost bloodless. He threw open the front door and touched his first two fingers to the startled man’s forehead-Abram’s eyes rolled back and he thudded to the floor.

Another man appeared in the room out of nothing- “Brother,” he greeted Castiel. “Allow me to complete my work and we can go on our way.” The Winchesters thundered into the room from the back hall, guns drawn.

“You are not following orders. You are smiting humans without approval from your superiors.” Castiel told Vengeance, shifting his weight.

“The orders stopped, brother- thanks to _you!”_ the other angel waved his weapon in Castiel’s direction. “You stopped Raphael, stopped everything.”

“And now I will stop you,” Castiel said without emotion. He lunged at his heavenly brethren, knocking him to the floor. Vengeance punched Cas’s jaw, throwing him off balance enough for Vengeance to get loose. The both staggered to their feet, breathing hard. Vengeance tried to lunge past Castiel, but the trench-coat clad angel spun lethally, tossed his weapon to the other hand, and stabbed it through Vengeance’s throat.

Vengeance sputtered, his mouth and eyes lighting up a brilliant white-blue, his fingers scrabbling at Castiel’s wrist.  Castiel yanked the blade from Vengeance’s body, and the angel fell to the floor, the lights emanating from his body going out. Kate blinked, scorched into the wood floor and plaster walls were great black wings, each feather smoldering and distinct.

Cas took a deep breath and faced the Winchesters. “I will return his body to heaven.” Grasping the fallen angel’s arm, he nodded to Kate and disappeared.

Kate blinked, and walked to the unconscious man. Nudging him with the toe of her boot she asked, “So what do we do with this?”

“He’s human, Kate. We have to leave him,” said Sam, moving towards the door. “It isn’t our call.”

They piled into the Impala and made the relatively short drive back to the bunker. After unloading the car, Dean stayed in the garage to tinker with his Baby. Sam and Kate hit the kitchen, sitting down to a late dinner.

“I think that was hard for Castiel,” she said conversationally. “Having to kill a fellow angel.”

“I think it was,” Sam agreed. “Cas is unique, he really feels deeply about his purpose.  So he feels regret when something goes wrong, especially if he thinks he could have changed the outcome somehow.”

Things were quiet for a moment.  Kate always felt at ease with Sam. The two of them could sit in the library reading with each other for hours, the peace only disturbed by the soft rustle of a turning page.

Kate swallowed and looked across the table at the younger Winchester, a man who had been through so much.  She admired him for his resilience and his strength, but mostly for his faith.  His hope that one day, life would be better.

“Sam…” she cleared her throat.  He looked up, his hazel eyes meeting her own. “What keeps you going? I know you think things will get better eventually, that you can see the light up ahead, but, well, what is it? What is it you look forward to so much?”

She dropped her gaze to the table.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, well. I guess I look forward to being able to stop moving.  To see Dean put down roots somewhere, have a garage of his own to tinker in. Maybe find a nice girl and not always be looking over my shoulder. To write it all down, everything we’ve learned, and pass it on to the next batch of hunters.”

Kate smiled a little smile to herself. Both of the brothers couldn’t imagine themselves without the other one; their perfect future was the two of them together. For her part, she couldn’t imagine them apart either.

“What about you?” Sam asked, cocking his head quizzically. “What do you look forward to? Do you want a white picket fence, kids?”

Kate shrugged uncomfortably. “I used to want the house and life thing.  I loved the idea of making myself a cozy little place to be safe and home.  I wasn’t sure about kids, I didn’t have the best example of a mom. It’s a lot of responsibility.” She flicked her gaze to Sam, then let her eyes roam over the kitchen, not focusing on any one thing. “Now I mostly look forward to the little things. Clean sheets, hot showers. Reading a book all the way through between cases, having a kitchen to cook in. I don’t see much beyond that.”

Sam stood, carrying his plate to the sink. “I think you will see further someday.” He squeezed Kate’s shoulder as he passed. “But for now, just keep hanging on. I like having you here, and I know you’ve been good for Dean.” He set his plate down and walked out of the room, innately graceful for a man of his size.

Kate stayed at the table for a few minutes wondering if Sam was right. If one day she would be able to picture herself living the ‘apple pie’ life. Shaking her head over her own wishful thinking, she washed the few dishes and wiped down the counters. On the way to her room, she saw Dean drinking in the library.

He was sitting in profile to her, back-lit by the lamp on the table next to him.  A cut-glass tumbler hung loosely in his fingers; his hands were still smudged with traces of oil and brake dust from his efforts in the garage, his nails cut down short, but always scrubbed clean.

Kate padded into the library and took the glass from Dean’s hand. She gulped down the contents and passed it back to him, situating herself against the front of his chair, her back against his legs. His hand came to rest on the top of her head and she closed her eyes. They didn’t need to say anything, not here between themselves. They both knew that living was harder some nights than others; that inexplicably, the darkness was able to absorb just a little more of the light; that even with the same amount of time, morning could feel so impossibly far away.  So they kept vigil for each other through the night, tenuously linked together, comforted by each other’s presence.


	5. Cursed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam starts receiving mysterious injuries and he, Dean, and Kate must figure it out in between supernatural complications.

It had been a peaceful few days in the bunker. Kate, Dean, and Sam had successfully eradicated a pack of demons working together in a small Nebraska town, and since then everything seemed to be quiet on the supernatural front. Dean had tinkered with a few of the antique cars in the garage- they probably had never been in such good condition.

            Sam had spent his free time assimilating Bobby’s research library and records into those of the Men of Letters. Dean kept giving him crap about it, but it seemed to soothe Sam. He finally had time to organize something to his specifications; to know that he had the world’s largest library of _weird_ right under his fingertips.

Kate had made it through all of the Lord of the Rings movies.  Despite his teasing and protests that the elves were a bunch of pansies, Dean had sat with her through almost all of them. She and Dean were spending more and more time together.  It wasn’t obvious, they never spoke about it or planned time for each other, but they spent almost every evening together, sometimes sitting quietly into the darkest, hushed hours of the night. Sam didn’t comment on it- he noticed, but he was almost afraid mentioning it would break the spell. Dean and Kate were grounding each other, they reminded the other that they weren’t the only one lost in the storm.

After they had been in the bunker for a week, Sam came back from his morning run earlier than he usually did. He walked into the kitchen where Kate was fixing coffee, rubbing the heel of his hand over his sternum. “You’re back early,” Kate commented, pouring him a cup. He took it, holding it loosely in his hands.

“Guess I wasn’t feeling it today,” he commented. He wandered out of the room.

That night, Kate knocked on the door of Sam’s room- she could hear his hacking coughs from the library. “You okay?” she called.

Sam gave a wheezing cough, cleared his throat, and answered, “Yeah, must have a cold or something.”

By the next morning Sam had a fever, and he was winded just making it from his room to his couch.  Dean made his famous chili-chicken soup, but Sam wasn’t getting any better by the evening. Kate and Dean were worried; the two of them hovered around Sam, making extra trips up and down the hall outside his room just to check on him.

At 3:00am, Dean knocked on Kate’s door. “We gotta get Sammy to the hospital,” he said, walking in and flipping on the light. Kate rubbed her fist against her eye, propping herself up on one elbow. Her shorts had ridden down and her shirt had worked its way up, showing Dean a tantalizing view of hip and belly. He turned away. “Sammy’s fever just hit one-oh-five; it’s time to take him in.”

That drive in the Impala was unlike any other that Kate had been on before. She was in the backseat like usual, but this time Sam was there with her. She and Dean together had dragged him into the car, and now his head was in her lap, his long hair sticking to his clammy face. Kate was holding cold washcloths to his face and neck, humming to him quietly. Every so often she saw Dean’s worried eyes flick to the rearview to check on them.

Finally the Impala came to a stop outside the closest ER. Kate staggered under Sam’s weight while Dean parked. The waiting room was almost completely empty, only one other person was quietly sitting in one of the hard grey chairs.

Sam was rushed to the back on a gurney, and Dean followed, yelling to the nurses all the way out of earshot. Kate took a seat in a shadowed corner and leaned her head back against the wall, prepared for a long night of waiting.

Dean came to find her at about nine the next morning. She was still in the chair, her elbows resting on her knees, head in her hands. She stood stiffly when Dean tapped her. “Pneumonia,” he said gruffly. “Son of a bitch has pneumonia. We should probably be able to take him home tomorrow; his fever has already come down.” He led her back to Sam’s room.

He was hooked to several monitors and IVs slowly dripped into his arms. He was so pale that even his lips had lost their color. Kate sat down on the foot of his bed and he slowly opened his eyes.

“Hey,” she said gently. “You had us scared for a while there.”

“I must have scared you to end up in the hospital- I’ve been shot and received less attention,” he joked quietly. Kate went down to the hospital gift shop and bought the latest Dean Koontz novel.  While Dean drove home to bring Sam “real food” and some of his own clothes, Kate read out loud to Sam.

Dean came back with a bag of Sam’s clothes and his homemade soup. Sam fell asleep soon after eating, and Dean and Kate sat quietly. He gestured to her book after a while. “I wouldn’t mind if you kept reading,” he said gruffly. Kate barely stopped herself from smiling- opening the book to the marked page, she started reading again.

The next day, over twenty-four hours after being admitted, Kate pushed Sam out of the hospital while Dean pulled around the Impala. Sam leaned against Kate; his color was a little better, but he was still shaky and easily tired. Eventually they got him situated on the couch where they could check on him. Kate flipped on some documentary on Rome Sam had been wanting to watching and sat with him under an afghan.

“How do you think you ended up with pneumonia?” she asked during the commercials. “We haven’t been out in the cold recently, I don’t think. And of the three of us, you are definitely in the best shape.”

“I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully. “The doctors asked me a dozen questions and couldn’t figure it out either. Guess it’s one of those fluke things.” They focused on the TV, and Sam was asleep almost immediately.

Over the next two weeks, things were quiet in the bunker. Sam spent much of his time sleeping and reading through the Men of Letters’ journals. Dean and Kate floated around, going away for a night on a local salt and burn. Dean threatened to drug and hogtie Sam if he so much as set foot outside the bunker- Kate added that she would help Dean out with this.

About three weeks after their late-night flight to the hospital, Dean got a call from Garth. After stuffing his phone back in his pocket, Dean yelled to Kate, “We got a werewolf case up in Nebraska.  We leave in the morning. Early!”

Sam moseyed into Dean’s room, leaning against the doorframe. “Garth have any information for us?” he asked. “Hunting ground, that kind of thing?”

“Us? What us?” Dean asked. “You’re staying here.”

“Dean, I’ve been here almost a month. I need to get out, I’m going crazy! And I’m fine. Really!”

Dean looked at his brother, his expression cold. They had been down this road before- Dean could do what he knew was best for his brother, or he could extend his baby brother the trust and faith he wanted. Both of those options were potentially disastrous.

He met his brother’s gaze. “Okay. You can come. But you hang back. You aren’t up to speed and both of us know it.”

Sam put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Okay. I got it.” He ducked out of the room to savor his victory.

The ride in the Impala was unusually tense. Dean was worrying about Sam, Sam was trying not smother under Dean’s concern, and Kate was trying not to get in between the two brothers. Most of the legwork was done; they knew the hunting ground was a stretch of road along the riverfront in an older part of the city. All they had to do was gank the monster and get back home.

After dropping their gear in a motel on the outskirts of town and arming themselves with silver bullets and blades, they headed out into the night. It was the last night of the full moon; the last night of the month they could catch this monster.

Kate and Sam lurked in a shadowed area along the footpath. Dean was stationed across the street. As they waited the moon grew high, its silvery light appearing like a hazy halo against the navy of the sky. Kate could feel her body getting stiff from staying too still, and she could tell Sam was starting to get fatigued.

A twig popped somewhere down the path- Kate turned in that direction, shifting her weight. Sam stood, gun raised. Something slammed into him from behind, knocking him into the guardrail running along the river. He wobbled for a second before flipping over the side. Kate heard him splash into the river, but couldn’t go after him. “Dean!” she screamed, facing the glittering eyes of the werewolf crouched in front of her.

Kate’s heart thundered in her ears. The gripped the butt of her pistol. She got off a shot, but the werewolf dropped to the ground before leaping at her. She feinted left and he almost missed her; instead of pinning her down as was his clear intent, his claws dug into her side and ripped. Kate rolled and came back to her feet, ignoring the burning beneath her ribs.  She could hear Dean’s boots slamming into the path as he ran her way.

She circled again, looking for the telltale reflection of the monster’s animal eyes. She caught it to her right, and fired again; it was too dark to get a clean line of sight. A growl was her only warning before a blitz attack; she fired her weapon twice, three times, again- she heard a yelp. Stepping forward, she strained her eyes into the dark, hoping against hope he was down.

In a sudden head-rush she slumped down to her knees, landing hard enough to jar her bones. Knowing adrenaline couldn’t keep her going for much longer, she raised her weapon again- she’d been counting, she had two bullets left in her clip. Two last chances. Straining her ears, she could hear distant splashing-hopefully Sam was okay- and the deep, throaty growl of the werewolf: a growl as old as time, the deep chest-rumbling grumble of a wounded animal threatened and cornered with nothing to lose.

Dean came pounding up to Kate and placed himself between her and the wounded creature. “Come on, you son of a bitch,” he called. “Let’s finish this.”

The werewolf must have agreed; he charged Dean, who squared to his target, let out a deep breath, and fired off three shots into the beast’s chest. It fell to the ground, and Kate watched in horrified fascination as its claws turned back into human nails and its eyes faded to human once more.

“Help,” it gurgled, a thin line of blood bubbling out of the corner of its mouth. Dean stood over it, gun held loosely.

“Sam’s in the river,” Kate said, holding her side. “He fell in a few minutes ago. I got this,” she gestured with her gun. Dean nodded, dropped his gun in her lap, and jumped over the guard onto the riverbank, calling for Sam.

Kate watched the werewolf’s breaths become more and more shallow. Eventually the face went slack, and he breathed out his last breath.

As the adrenaline faded from her body, the slashes in her abdomen hurt more and more. She slumped on her other side, her hand clasped over the sticky and hot wounds gaping in her skin. She could smell her blood on the air, tangy and metallic. She really hoped Sam was okay.

Kate drifted in a not-unpleasant hazy state for an unknown amount of time. She knew where she was and what happened, but it wasn’t a pressing concern; it was distant from her in the here and now. Eventually, footfalls jarred her back to reality, and she wrapped her hand around the gun, training it on whoever approached. She released the hammer of the pistol when she saw it was Dean, his arm around Sam’s waist.

“Sam,” she croaked. Dean’s eye’s narrowed in worry when they focused on her.

“Hey, Kate,” said Sam. He pulled himself away from Dean, who was at her side in a few long strides. He yanked a navy bandana out of his pocket, wadded it up, and pressed it against her side. He pressed _hard,_ and she gritted her teeth.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Dean asked quietly, intensely. “Sammy’s fine, he’s just exhausted from swimming until he found a spot on the bank low enough to pull himself out. And now you…” a muscle jerked along his jaw.

Sam walked over and stood behind Kate. “Go get the car, Dean. I can shoot as well as ever,” he said. He picked Kate and Dean’s guns off the ground and leaned back against the low wall. “We’ll be fine.”

Dean looked torn, but he placed Kate’s hand over the bandana and jogged away into the dark. Eventually the three of them were safely back in the Impala and rolling towards the hotel. Kate’s head was in Sam’s lap while he held the blood-soaked scrap of fabric to her side.

Once the car was parked, the neon of the flickering sign reflected in its black paint, Dean carried Kate into the room while Sam slowly made his way in with the suturing kit. She passed out a few stitches in, Dean methodically pulling the silk filaments through her torn skin. He taped gauze over the whole thing and sat back to review the results of tonight’s shitshow.

Kate was unconscious on his bed, her skin almost translucent from blood loss. Sam was exhausted from swimming almost a mile after a bout of pneumonia- goddamn pneumonia.  Fat chance of him believing one of Sam’s _I’m fine’s_ again. “I’m fine” was currently sleeping deeply on the other bed in the motel room, belly-down with his arms around the pillow. Dean smiled a sad little smile- Sammy had always slept like that when he was little and had been up too long. Looked like some habits stuck around.

He rubbed his hand over his face. He couldn’t take care of both Sam and Kate; he had no idea what he was going to do.  They both deserved better; they deserved real lives and someone who would be able to give them what they needed. Kate moaned a little in her sleep as she tried to roll onto her side, and Dean squeezed his eyes shut tight at the sound before getting up and sitting next to Kate on the bed, pulling her against his side to keep her from shifting around.

Dean felt himself drifting off, and gave in to the temptation to just fall asleep next to Kate. _She’s had to share a bed with me or Sam before, it’s not a big deal_ he told himself as he drifted off.

Kate woke up to a raging headache, an achy side, and an overwhelming sense of warmth. Cracking her eyes, she caught a glimpse of Dean’s jaw above the collar of his worn denim shirt. Ah. That explained the warmth.

She drifted somewhere between waking and sleeping until Dean slid himself away from her and went into the bathroom. She slowly pushed herself into a sitting position, doing her best to ignore the way her stitches pulled. Dean came back out of the bathroom and took a seat at the rickety table in the corner.

“How you feelin’?” he asked, his voice still gravelly from sleep.

“I’m up and moving, which means I’m fine,” she responded, slowly swinging her feet over the edge of the bed and shuffling her way into the bathroom. Dean rolled his eyes.

An hour later Sam woke up, and it seemed that the long night of uninterrupted sleep had worked wonders. He still didn’t seem ready for his usual five mile run, but he was moving with a confidence Kate and Dean hadn’t seen in a while. They packed themselves into the Impala and headed home.

About an hour from the bunker, Sam let out a cry and grabbed his shoulder. Then, with a grunt, he rubbed his other hand over his eyes. Dean pulled the Impala over and slammed it into neutral when he saw blood soaking into Sam’s shirt. Kate scooted over in the backseat to take a peek.

“What the hell?” sputtered Dean, pulling Sam’s hand away from the wound so he could get a look. “This looks like a bullet wound! What did you do?”

“I was just sitting here Dean, you tell me! Ouch!” Sam slapped at Dean’s hand, which was poking at the wound.

“Seriously, this is a bullet would. And you have a black eye!” Sure enough, a bruise was rising on Sam’s left cheekbone.

Kate chimed in, “There’s not a bullet in the seat. What is going on?”

“I don’t know,” said Dean, “but we are going to go back to the bunker before anything else weird happens. He set the Impala rolling again, blazing through the gears until they were flying down the asphalt on the way home.

Sam and Kate staggered down the stairs of the bunker together, Sam dropping into a chair in the kitchen while Kate went to grab one of their many first aid kits. Dean came in and sliced the sleeve off of Sam’s flannel, taking a better look. “It’s a gunshot alright, God knows I’ve seen my share.” He prodded it a bit, ignoring his brother’s curses. “It went in right under the collarbone, and came back out the back. Small caliber, judging by the size of the hole.”

“Great, Dean,” Sam muttered.

Once everyone was patched up, Dean grabbed a bottle of whiskey to split and the three sat around the kitchen table.

“Like I said, there wasn’t a bullet in the seat, which there would have been if Sam had actually been shot.”

“Kate, I’m pretty sure I was shot. I’ve got the bloody wound to prove it,” said Sam.

“No, I mean shot normally,” she defended. “This was like… a virtual shooting,” she said lamely. She grabbed the Jim Beam and took a swig, made a face, and put it back in the center of the table.

“Ice bullet,” said Dean.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Ice bullets would shatter or melt before impact. And it couldn’t have come from outside the car because there is no hole in the windshield or seat.

“I don’t know. First inexplicable pneumonia and now a bullet would that may just be a spontaneous injury. This is weird,” said Kate. She stood and walked to the library, her hand against her side to prevent her stiches from tugging as she moved. Dean watched her go.

Kate was still in the library reading when Dean got up the next morning, her forehead resting on the heel on her hand, elbow on the table. She rubbed her eyes and turned a page, still reading on.

“Find anything, college girl?” he asked, sitting down across from her.

“No, there’s not enough to go on right now. We don’t even have proof it’s related to the world of the supernatural. But that would be a hell of a coincidence.”

 The three of them lazed around the majority of the day. Kate was reminded of that famous quote about war- something like it’s “long periods of boredom punctuated by short bursts of intense terror.” Unfortunately, the Winchester’s personal life-long war seemed to include far more terror than opportunities to be bored.

That afternoon Kate and Sam were lounging on the couch reading when they heard an ominous crunch followed by a yelp from Sam. He gingerly tugged off one wooly sock to reveal his smallest toe sticking almost sideways off his foot- it was starting to turn purple.

He looked at Kate, his hazel eyes wide and confused. “I- I was just sitting here! Just sitting!” Gritting his teeth, he yanked his toe pack in place with a pop.

Kate got up and scurried into the library, looking for a book she had read recently. It was back in its spot on the top shelf of the oak built-in. Stretching on her toes, she ignored the yanking along her side and grabbed the book. Sam limped into the room.

“I was reading this book on witches a few weeks ago- I wanted to know more about what they were capable of manipulating- and there was a spell that sounded kind of like this.” She flipped through the yellowed pages until she found what she was looking for. “This spell allows the witch to transfer all bodily harm onto someone else. It’s part of the process they use to remain young and beautiful for longer than the average lifetime.”

Sam read over the passage. “You’re right, this would make sense. But it says here she would need some part of my essence, like hair or blood. Blood is the strongest link for this kind of spell. We haven’t been on any witch hunts recently.”

Sam carried the book towards Dean’s room and explained about his toe, the book, and their suspicions.

“Okay. So assuming it’s this spell… how’d she get some of your essence? You get lucky lately?” He winked at his unamused brother.

‘No, Dean. Really.”

Dean raised his hands up to go with the whole _I’m innocent_ face. “Really, Sammy, we bleed all over. We’ve bled in almost every state of the country, and hell, we’ve died in more than a few!”

“This would probably be something more recent. Like in the last few months,” Kate chimed in.

“Look, I don’t know! I’ll work on it!” Sam said, flustered. “I’m just glad we figured this out.”

Dean rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, his eyes tired. “Yep. Once again, a Winchester got cursed.”


	6. Cursed 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate seeks help from Dean; the group sets off on a search for the witch who cursed Sam. (Contains smut)

Kate paced through the bunker listening to the oppressive silence. It was one of those nights where she could hear everything- the creak of the ventilation system, the brush of curtains against the glass of the window, the background hum of the fridge.  Her skin felt too tight, and her heart pounded furiously in her chest.

In short, Kate felt trapped- confined within the bunker and cornered in her own head. Some nights she could handle this, the smothering sense of being alone and vulnerable. Other nights… well, other nights she wanted out.

She stalked up the hall towards her bedroom, but turned away before reaching her door. She knew from experience laying in her bed wouldn’t help, it would only make her feel broken: a girl yearning for the oblivion of sleep but forced instead to be aware of everything- _everything-_ around her. And remember everything that had gone before.

She found herself standing outside the door of Dean’s room. She desperately wanted to go in, even if just to peek at him; to receive visual confirmation that there was someone else there.  Just one other person within reaching distance.

Kate loved Sam, he was the big brother she’d never had.  It had always been her taking care of others- both Kate and Sam were enjoying having a new role to play. But Dean, well. She didn’t feel like Dean’s sister. Recently, she just knew that Dean _got it._ That he understood her; the first person to do so in a long, long time. She held her breath, listening for any movement inside his room.

Slowly, she opened the door. It didn’t creak, Dean had oiled all of the door hinges in the bunker soon after moving in, part of his ‘nesting’. Kate heard Dean’s breathing change, and he slowly raised his head off the pillow, looking in her direction. “Kate?” he questioned, his voice deep and gruff.

She took one step into the room, just one, before glancing behind her at the hallway. She glanced at Dean before looking at the floor.

“Kate?” Dean asked again, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Please,” Kate whispered. That was all, just _please._ She didn’t know what she was asking for, all she wanted was help. She wanted, just once, for someone to make it better.

“Come ‘ere,” said Dean huskily, patting the bed beside him. Kate slowly walked to the bed and sat down crosslegged on top of the covers as far from Dean as she could get and still be on the bed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

“I just… I don’t know!” she slid off the bed to pace around the room. Dean watched her for a moment, taking in her rapid breathing and twitchy demeanor.

“Talk to me, Kate,” he said calmly.

“I can’t, Dean. I can’t talk to you about what’s wrong because I have no idea other than the fact that I feel broken in ways that can’t be fixed!” She stopped pacing and faced Dean, her eyes wide and searching. “I’m sorry,” she said more softly. She took a step back. “I’ll leave you alone.” She turned towards the door.

“No, wait,” he said as evenly as he could. He got out of the bed and stepped towards her. She eyed him warily, and he understood that if he wanted her to stay, he couldn’t try to force her into it. Slowly, he sat back down on his bed. “Whatever it is- whatever is going on with you, it’ll be okay. You’ll figure it out. I’ll help, if you let me.”

Kate hovered in the doorway for a moment. Eventually, she sat down on the bed again. Dean watched her take a few deep breaths before breaking the silence. “I used to hate listening to Sammy cry when we were kids. I’d never say anything, just pretend I didn’t notice- growing up in motels, you keep the illusion of privacy as much as you can. But I’d hear him. And it killed me that I couldn’t fix it. This,” he waved a hand in Kate’s direction, “this is doing the same thing.” He looked at her steadily, waiting for her to meet his eyes.

When she peeked at him through her lashes, he gave her a little smile. She ducked her eyes back down. “C’mon, Kate,” he cajoled. “Give me something!” He scooted closer to her, trying to get a look at her face.

She looked up at him for a second before leaning in and placing her lips on his. Dean cool feel her soft lips feathering over his mouth, her hand splayed on his knee for balance. She leaned back, looking at him cautiously to gauge his reaction. He cradled her cheek in his palm, calloused against the soft skin of her face. He ran his thumb over her cheekbone before kissing her again, hungrily.

“Finally,” he mumbled against her mouth. He could feel her hands running over his chest, her fingertips sporadically digging into the muscle as she gripped him a little tighter. Dean ran a hand over her back, spreading his fingers between her shoulder blades, bowing her back for easier access to her soft mouth. She made a humming sound in the back of her throat and wrapped an around him, anchoring herself in place.

Dean shifted his grip, running a hand over Kate’s ribs, paying attention to her reactions. He knew she hadn’t come to him for _this,_ and didn’t want to do anything she didn’t want. When she pressed herself into his open palm he grinned and nibbled his way down her jawbone. His hands skimmed her boxers down her legs and she kicked them away.

He picked her up and pulled her into his lap, her knees digging into the mattress on either side of his hips. She rocked against him, head back, eyes closed. “Good girl,” he murmured, yanking her pajama shirt over her head. He returned his mouth to the smooth expanse of her skin, nipping his way over her collarbone to lave his tongue over her puckered nipples. He closed his lips around the peak, grazing it with his teeth. Kate groaned and held herself up to scrabble at the drawstring of Dean’s sweats. Returning to her mouth, Dean moved to the edge of the bed and stood without either of them breaking the kiss. Eventually Kate leaned away and slid his pants and boxers down in in fell swoop as she kneeled, thighs open, on the edge of the mattress. Dean was between them in an instant, picking her up and laying her back in the center of the bed.

He came down over her almost lazily, running his teeth along the sensitive skin where thigh met hip. “Dean,” Kate complained, neediness evident in her voice. He stretched out alongside her, one and laying possessively at the juncture of her thighs. He dipped his middle finger in to circle tantalizingly over her clit.

“You okay honey?” he purred in her ear before rubbing his scruffy cheek over her sensitive nipples. Taking one in his mouth, he tugged, his finger still circling. He shifted, his weight and heat sinking into her. She bucked against him, wanting more. “Easy,” he rumbled, sinking two fingers into her, curling them up to rub gently as he worked in and out. “You wanna come, sweetheart?”

Kate opened her eyes and growled at him, arousal flushing her cheeks.

Dean tsked. “Now play nice, honey, and I might let you,” he teased, his lips following his hands over her breasts and belly. Scooping his hands under one knee and then the other, he pulled her legs over his shoulders. Kate lifted her head to meet Dean’s blazing green eyes, dark with hunger, looking at her from between her legs. Parting her with his thumbs, he dropped the teasing demeanor, sucking her clit between his lips. He tugged, flicking the little nub with his tongue. Kate clapped her hand over her mouth to smother her groan; her belly clenched and thighs shook. Dean broke the suction and did it again, once more thrusting two fingers inside.

Her release hit her all at once; she keened into her hand, eyes tightly shut, thighs clamped around Dean’s ears. She shook, colors going off like fireworks on the back of her eyelids. While her legs still trembled with aftershocks, Dean worked his way up the bed and sat with his legs in front of him, slightly apart, stroking his hands over her torso.

She crawled onto his lap and wrapping her hand around him, sank down onto his hard shaft. He tugged her legs around him and their hips were flush against each other. Dean groaned and starting rocking into Kate, the muscles in his abdomen rippling.

Kate leaned back on her hands, pushing into each of Dean’s thrusts. She could feel tension coiling low in her belly again, but was determined to drive Dean over the edge as well. She swiveled her hips each time he rocked against her and smirked when she saw his fingers tighten on the covers.

Leaning forward, Kate grazed Dean’s pulse point with her teeth, sucking gently. She ran her hands over his chest, thumbing his flat nipples. When he dropped his head to the side, she began slowly clenching those inner walls around him, moving in counterpoint to his steady thrusts. He groaned, dropping his head to her breast, toying with her nipple.

She clenched his hair, holding him to her. “Oh, God,’ she moaned out breathily. “Dean…”

He clenched his teeth against his own release and grabbing her hips, ground her against his pubic bone, still steadily rocking into her. He could hear her breaths hissing in and out unsteadily, her fingers still tugging on a fist-full of his hair. He slipped a finger between them, letting her weight and straining hips rub it against her clit.

She began to shake, sobbing into his neck- and then she _bit_ him _._ His steady thrusts stuttered as he was gripped by his own orgasm- moaning into her shoulder, he pumped her up and down, savoring her clenching release.

Dean fell back, Kate laying boneless against his chest, their hearts pounding and breathing erratic. Dean rubbed his hand over Kate’s back, up and down, soothingly. “Better?” he asked, smirking.”

Halfheartedly, Kate swatted him. “Better.” She rubbed her cheek against him like a sleepy kitten. Dean watched her eyelids flutter shut. He was afraid to wake her up so he just let her be and dragged covers over them both. He could feel her slow breaths in little puffs of warm air against the skin of his chest.

_The fuck are you doing, Dean? This is Kate. She lives here. How are you going to deal with this?_

He didn’t know. He fell asleep still wondering what would happen. When he woke up, Kate was gone and her clothes were up from the floor.

He dragged his sweats back on and wandered into the hall. Kate’s door was open, and she wasn’t inside. Walking towards the main part of the bunker, he could hear her and Sam talking in the library.

She was sitting at one of the tables, her chin resting on one knee she had drawn up into the chair. A cup of coffee sat in front of her, just like normal. Sam was standing in front of a map covered in strings and sticky notes. His head was cocked to the side, thinking about something, hair still mussed from sleep.

Kate spotted Dean lurking in the doorway. “Come in here, Dean. Sam and I are going over all the cases we worked in the last few months and trying to remember if- well more like _how-_ he got hurt at each one.”

Dean grabbed a cup of coffee and the three of them studied the map. “Do bloody knuckles count?” asked Kate. “If so, we have to add that to about six cases in the last three months.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t dripping blood around,” Sam protested.

“We don’t even know if it was blood she got, Sam,” said Dean unhelpfully. “One of the maids could have grabbed a stray hair out of the motel, whatever.”

“There are two schools of thought on that,” said Kate. “One: it’s all a horrible coincidence that she ended up with part of Sam- I mean, what witch in her right mind would intentionally attract the attention of a Winchester? Two: the witch absolutely knew about Sam, and she did it for a reason, as some kind of revenge. Because there really are no coincidences when it comes to you two.”

Sam and Dean looked thoughtful. “She makes a good point, Sam,” said Dean. “This probably has some sort of revenge motivation behind it. That should narrow some of these down.”

They went back over the cases- ghosts, ghouls, werewolves, a small nest of vampires, that renegade karmic angel, a pagan god of harvest, a Native American trickster… no witches.

“The last time we were around a coven was almost a year ago,” said Sam. ‘It was right before we found Kate.”

“Found me? Pshh, I saved your ass Sam Winchester,” Kate called.

“Yeah, yeah,” he shook his head, dimples evident. “Anyway, didn’t you get the rest of the coven, Dean?”

“I thought so. That case was a mess. If there was a witch we missed, why would she wait so long?”

Kate chimed in. “Actually, it makes sense. She would have had to move somewhere and reestablish herself without drawing attention. And then she would have needed to wait a long enough time for you guys to hopefully forget about it. It’s what I’d do.” Dean and Sam gave her a raised-eyebrows glance out of the corner of their eyes. “What? I have a vindictive streak. Like you guys don’t? Please.”

Dean sighed. “We’ve got to head back to Pennsylvania. We’ve done all we can here.”

Kate sighed and went to pack her coat. “I hate Great Lakes states in the winter.” Dean watched her leave, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. She was acting like last night hadn’t happened- like she hadn’t had some sort of panic attack and then come apart twice in his arms. He grinned to himself at the memory. 

Kate showed up at the Impala the next morning wrapped in a coat and holding a pillow and blanket.

Sam looked at her. “You moving in back there?”

“As much as I love the Impala, the heating system does not always reach the backseat. I also figured I’d give this whole sleeping thing a try.” She shrugged.

“Hey! Baby’s perfect,” Dean defended as he turned the key, the engine roaring to life. Kate didn’t even bother responding. Baby was Dean’s home, it wasn’t her place to insult it.

The miles rolled away, their surroundings becoming more and more snowy. It was a beautiful sight- the black classic car cruising through the pristine white countryside, curls of exhaust dispersing into the cold air behind it.

When they stopped to get gas and switch drivers, Kate was sent inside on food duty.  She walked back to the car, arms full of supplies, when she realized that the Impala was starting to feel like _her_ home too.

She thought about that while Sam drove and she watched the roads unroll. When they were in a tight spot, the three of them ran for Baby. If they got separated, they knew to try to make it back to the car.  The Impala meant Dean blasting old rock and Sam complaining; the Impala meant rattling heat vents and Sam’s soft snores- in short, it meant familiarity and a sense of belonging. Kate smiled to herself- it had taken her this long to belong somewhere, and it turned out she belonged in the backseat of an old Impala with Kansas plates, the trunk stuffed with tools used to fight the supernatural.

Hugging her new sense of place to herself, she fell asleep, wrapped up in her blanket, head cushioned against the door. When Sam’s shoulder started bothering him, he woke Dean up to trade places again. Dean came around the front of the car and slid into the driver’s seat, catching a glimpse of Kate’s peaceful face in the back, dark hair tumbled over her shoulder. He turned to look at her, pleased that she was finally getting some rest.

When he turned back around, Sam was staring at him, head cocked sardonically, one eyebrow raised. Dean ignored him and pulled out into the night.

They rolled into town before the sun was up. Dean pulled into a small twenty four hour diner. Sam woke up Kate, and then proceeded to laugh as she stood hunched beside the Impala, arms wrapped around herself, eyes squinting in sleepy disgruntlement and against the wind.

Once inside, they ordered early breakfast and coffee.

“Now that we are here, what are we going to do?” asked Kate, much more alert now that she was inside with coffee.

“I thought I would go through the real-estate records for this time last year. She would need enough space to perform the rituals with enough of a distance around to prevent being noticed.”

“That’s smart,” said Kate, pointing her fork at Sam before taking a bite of scrambled eggs.

“I was going to go through the county records, see if any woman failed to show up to work and was subsequently reported missing about a year ago,” said Dean. “We can see if any of Sam’s names match mine.”

“Guess I’m with Sam, today, then.” Said Kate.

“What? Why?” asked Dean.

Kate and Sam gave him confused looks, although Sam’s was a little more pointed. Something along the lines of _I know there is something going the fuck on with you, and I will figure out what it is. You just wait, brother. We will have words._

Kate spoke slowly, like she was talking to a hard-of-hearing toddler. “I’m going with Sam because I don’t have a police ID. Small town cop plus young female with authority equals small-town suspicion, remember?”

“Yeah, I know that,” he said gruffly. “I just thought you might have had another idea,” he lied hastily.”

Dean dropped Kate and Sam off at a motel on the outskirts of town to hack into the county records before he headed to the police station. He asked the standard questions, telling the tired Barney Fife equivalent that he was passing through town on another case. He came away about an hour later with a photocopied list of missing persons from the around the time he and Sam had last been through here.

All through the station and the drive back to the hotel he was kicking himself over that stupid comment to Kate in the diner. He didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him- it was just annoying that she was acting like it had never happened. She was all buddy-buddy with Sam, joking as usual, and pretending he didn’t exist.

_That’s not true_ part of his conscience reminded him. _She came to you when she wanted help._

His little shoulder demon was back. _Yeah, so she used me to distract herself when she was feeling alone._

_But can I blame her for that? How many women have I slept with over the years so I wouldn’t have to sleep alone?_

When Sam heard the Impala pull up outside the motel, he slid the laptop to Kate and walked out to meet Dean. He wanted to know what why he was being weird about Kate.

He saw Dean walking towards their room. He circled his finger in the air, “Uh-uh. Back in the car,” he said, pulling Dean by his elbow.

“Man, why?” said Dean, sliding into the seat.

“Just drive,” said Sam. Now he _knew_ something was going on. He let Dean drive aimlessly around the town, just staring at his brother. He knew Dean would get unnerved soon enough.

Just as Sam predicted, Dean eventually pulled the Impala onto a side road and cut the engine. Resting his face in his palm he asked, “What.”

“What is going on with you and Kate? Did you make a move on her?” Dean huffed, his face unchanging. “You did! Dammit Dean, this is _Kate!_ She chose to be celibate for almost three years and you hit on her?”

Dean interrupted him, “What? No! She made the move on me!” he yelled in confusion, poking himself in the chest. “And what’s this about being celibate? How do you know that? Did _you_ try something first?”

Sam held up his hands, palms out, and took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s just talk about this. A while ago Kate was teasing me about that girl back in Idaho, so I made a comment back. We got to talking, and she mentioned she hadn’t seen the point in getting involved with someone in a while. Turned out a while had been almost three years, now.”

“You just talk about your sex lives with each other? Come on!” said Dean, hitting his hand on the steering wheel.

“We’re friends, Dean, we talk about all sorts of things. So… she made a move on you? How’d that come about?”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, feeling really, horribly awkward. “It was the last night in the bunker. She just came in my room and was pretty agitated, so I tried to get her to talk to me, and then she kissed me and, well…” he trailed off.

Sam shook his head. “Wow.”

“I don’t understand!” said Dean, raising his voice again. “Now it’s like nothing has happened!”

“Do you want it to be?” Sam asked quietly.

Dean turned the key and pointed the Impala back towards town. He didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do.

Kate greeted them with a smile when they came into the motel. “Hey guys! I’ve a list of properties sold in the two months after your witch-exterminating last year listed in order of likelihood based on location, seller, and sale-type.”

Sam bent over her work and started discussing cost-benefit analyses and short sales and auctions and gods know what. Dean sat on the edge of the bed and watched them.

“Some of these houses match up with the missing persons list you brought, Dean,” said Sam. “We should visit the houses to see if anything looks off.”

Dean grabbed his keys and the three of them piled back into the Impala. The first two houses they visited were in town- there were no areas of blighted land or strange symbols or anything else odd that they could see. The next house was outside town a bit, but the current owners were home and had dogs running loose so they cut their losses. 

“This next place was sold at auction after all payments stopped the month after we killed the coven.” Sam coughed.

Dean turned into the driveway, and Kate let her eyes rover over the broad front porch, slightly overgrown flowerbeds, and average-looking property mostly obscured by snow.

Sam wheezed, his hands on his knees. Dean thumped him on the back. “You okay, Sam?”

Sam shook his head, hair obscuring most his face. He struggled to inhale. Dean brushed his hand over his brother’s face, trying to figure out what was happening. “Sam? Sam!” His lips were starting to turn blue as he rasped for breath.

Dean shoved the gearshift in reverse and flew back out of the driveway. “You hang on, Sammy, it’s gonna be okay,” he commanded as they roared back towards town. Almost immediately color began seeping back into Sam’s face; he braced his palms on the dash in front of him, gulping in huge gasps of air.

“What the hell?” Dean’s gaze flicked from the road to Sam and back again.

Sam cleared his throat. “I don’t know what that was. I’m feeling pretty normal now.”

“Turn around, Dean” said Kate suddenly.

“Why? We’ve got to get Sam checked out?” said Dean in his I’m-confused-and-scared-so-I-am-masking-it-by-yelling voice.

“This will check out Sammy,” she said calmly from the backseat. “I think it was a spell.”

Angrily, Dean spun the Impala around in the middle of the road, driving aggressively back towards the last farmhouse. Kate reached over the seat and grabbed Sam’s hand; he shifted to keep them linked, pleased that she was slowly learning to touch them more casually.

Sure enough, as the wheels of the Impala crunched onto the gravel of the winding driveway, Sam began coughing and wheezing again. Dean pulled back onto the road and drove back towards the motel, ignoring Kate and Sam’s questions and speculations. He slammed into the motel room, brooding.

“Do you realize how powerful this witch must be, to be able to cast a spell on Sam like that? A spell that lasts for a year?” he yelled, not caring if Kate and Sam were listening.

“I agree with you Dean.  This is something we should be concerned about- but what worries me is the level of foresight this took. She _knew_ you and Sam would figure it out, so she rigged a system to keep you away from her former home and reminded you that she can make Sam suffer. She’s a strategist.”

“This is bad,” said Sam. “How are we going to catch her is she can easily kill me whenever I get close?” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

Dean sat on his bed, head bowed. “I don’t know, Sam. I don’t know.”


	7. Cursed 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate and the Winchesters visit Garth, hoping he has information to help with their witch hunt. He agrees to ask around if they help with a local ghoul problem. He points them to New Orleans, where Sam’s curse throws another wrench into things.

Kate sat in the back of the Impala- where she’d spent almost all of her time over the last few weeks- and thought about the nature of intimacy. It was just kind of an odd thing- she’d gone to Dean’s room almost a month ago, lonely and vulnerable, and they’d had amazing, brain-melting sex. While she was certainly more comfortable around him now, she had never known anyone to the depth that she now knew Sam and Dean.

They’d made it over most of the continental US looking for clues as to the whereabouts of the witch that had cursed Sam in the last three-ish weeks. Most of the time had been spent driving, sometimes they would stay in a town somewhere to use the library or pursue a fruitless lead. They’d been in each other’s presence constantly- Kate knew which foods upset Sam’s stomach, how Dean wanted his burgers fixed, she could even differentiate their soft snores from each other. Idly, she wondered what the boys had picked up about her.

But despite her new-found knowledge and comfort with the boys, she still feared any real intimacy with them- to Kate, intimacy was trusting someone else with your fears and your hopes and insecurities. Intimacy was drawing someone a roadmap of your heart and trusting them not to misuse it. She knew she owed them both, but especially Dean, answers. This weighed on her conscience constantly, but always the fear of exposing herself won out.

The Impala rolled on, carrying her passengers over the country as she had been for many years, familiar with the rhythms of life on the road. After more than fourteen hours in the car, listening only to the low hum of the engine, Sam asked, “Maybe we should stop at this town up ahead, take a break. Maybe find a local case.”

“Really, Sam?” asked Dean, tearing his eyes off the undulating blacktop to glance at his brother. “Now, of all times, you want to take a break? When you could die at any minute?”

“I could die anytime Dean, just like anybody else. One night of bad tacos could end it all,” Sam shot back. “We aren’t getting anywhere and we’re all exhausted. Can’t we take a night to call around, ask other hunters to keep an eye out?”

Dean didn’t respond, but he pulled off the highway at the next exit and cruised past a sign that read “St. Paul, 74 miles”. He pulled into the parking lot of the first twenty-four hour motel he saw, slamming the car into neutral. Dean checked them in, charming the old lady watching soaps behind the low Formica counter. He returned with keys and drove around back.

Kate followed Dean into the room, hoping this dinky little place would have rollaway beds- no such luck. Not even a couch. “Looks like you’re bunking with me,” said Dean curtly before grabbing his kit and walking into the bathroom. Sam came in with a pile of stuff right around the time the shower turned on, the pipes rattling in the thin walls. Sam dumped his stuff on the bed on the left side of the room, just as he usually did. Brushing his hair back from his face, he looked at the other double ruefully, and then Kate standing near it. “You could share with me if you want,” he offered. “We’ve done it before in cases like this.”

Kate sighed. Obviously Dean had spilled the beans to his brother. Honestly, was there anything they didn’t know about the other? “This will cause less drama all around,” she replied, sitting gingerly on the side of the sagging mattress.

Sam flopped onto the bed fully dressed, face down, arms wrapped around the pillow. Without looking, he grabbed his backpack and drug it onto the bed beside him, clearly intending to grab something out of it. Within seconds he was breathing evenly, and soon was letting out the soft rasps of air that were Sam snores. The shower cut off and Kate shifted, uncomfortable.

She didn’t know what the hell to make of Dean Winchester. When he came out, beads of water clinging to his eyelashes and darkened hair, Kate scurried in for her turn. Too soon the weak spray of the shower inevitably ran cold, and she reluctantly dressed in shorts and an oversized tshirt before going out into the shadows of the main room. Sam was still out on top of his covers, fully clothed down to his boots.

Dean watched Kate move around the room like a sylph, lightly putting down her clothes, tucking her shower kit back in her bag, and making sure her gun was tucked under the bed where she could easily grab it. Quietly she slipped under the covers next to him, the rough cotton cloth rustling as her long legs brushed against his. Despite knowing he was awake, she lay stiffly beside him, eyes investigating the shadows of the room.

Dean was not having this obvious separation between them. Scooting to the center of the bed, he tugged Kate against himself, letting her curl onto her side like she always slept. He stroked the fine hair at her temples back from her face, feeling her muscles slowly go lax against him. She smelled like shampoo and Kate- womanly, earthy, and erotic as hell. Dean held still, savoring the feeling of this prickly, independent woman slowly falling asleep against him.

When she brushed her lips against his chest in a brief kiss, Dean pulled back just enough to glance down at her. Her lips were barely parted, allowing her deep even breaths to puff against his shirt. Her thick lashes swept over high cheekbones, cushioned against his shoulder joint. Dean settled onto his pillow, reveling in the warm weight of Kate against him. He felt hope unravel a millimeter or two- Kate wouldn’t have given him a little goodnight peck if she hadn’t felt something.

When Dean woke up the next morning, weak light was filtering in the thin curtains and Sam’s bed was empty. Kate was still curled against him, her chin tucked close to her collarbone, one hand fisted in his tshirt. Slowly, he unengaged his shirt from her grasp and slipped out of the bed. Kate rolled over, mumbling something. By the time he returned with coffee, she was sitting up in bed braiding back her hair. “Morning,” she said, back to business as usual.

“Here,” Dean handed her a coffee. She closed her eyes and inhaled the steam before taking a gulp. Dean shifted- he knew he was in a bad way when he got turned on by the way a woman drank coffee.

“Where’s Sam?” she asked.

“Left a note saying he went for a run”. He sat down at the little circular table, which wobbled every time he touched it and looked at Kate.

“What’s going on Dean. You’re looking at me like you expect me to bolt at any moment.”

“Are you?” he asked seriously. “Last time you slept in my bed you were gone without a trace in the morning.”

She shrugged, but kept eye contact with Dean. She knew avoiding this was the coward’s way out. “I panicked. You’re saying you never snuck out of a woman’s bed before?”

Dean opened his mouth, closed it, and then managed to respond, “Okay, point made. But why did you panic? It’s just… me.” Gathering steam, he continued, “And why does Sam know so much more about you than I do? I don’t get it, Kate.”

“Sam knows more about me because we spend time together and he asks me questions. Then I’ll ask him things. We’re friends, it’s not complicated,” she said, matter-of-factly. She looked away from him, plucking at the sheets pooled around her hips. “I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize being able to stay with you and Sam. I like being here. I feel like I belong here.”

“Hey. Look at me.” Dean leaned forward, brows raised, eyes intent on Kate. “You and I got into this together. And we are not going to ask you to leave, not for anything.”

Kate looked up at him, clearly skeptical. Dean gave a slight shake of his head, jaw tight. “You’re family now, dammit. You’ll never know all the crap that Sam and I have forced on each other, and yet we still stick together. Nothing, including death, has turned us against each other yet. And we aren’t going to turn on you. You have a home with us- whatever home we have- for however long you want it.”

Kate didn’t know what to say. _Thanks_ just wouldn’t cut it in a situation like this. She smiled at Dean, though it didn’t reach her eyes, and looked back down at the bed.

“Kate. Kate”- Dean waited until she turned his way again. “So that’s it? I didn’t do something?”

She gave him an eyebrow-cocked, corner-of-the-eye _look_. “Why in the world would you ask that? Something wrong? Please,” she rolled her eyes with a scornful sound.

Sam opened the motel door and bounced into the room, his faced flush from the run. Picking up on the tension, he jerked his thumb towards the door. “Should I go again or…?”

“Nope, we’re all good here,” said Kate, moving to her bag and pawing out a pair of jeans. She slipped into the bathroom to change and brush.

Sam pointed to the bathroom door, one eyebrow up, head cocked. Dean threw his hands up in the air and shrugged. He didn’t know what Kate was thinking, but he felt a little better. He didn’t know what the hell they were doing, and clearly she didn’t either- but despite that, she trusted him and wanted to stay. That was a start.

When everybody was clean and back in the room together, Sam said, “Okay. So I stopped by the library and looked through the newspaper records and we got nothing here. The most suspicious thing to happen was a kid’s bike going missing. I called the Campbells, and they don’t have any witch leads out west, that guy Craig up in the Adirondacks doesn’t know anything either.

“What about Garth?”

“I got nothing. Maybe he changed phones?”

“Changed phones? The man must have six.” Dean rubbed his hand through his hair. “Anybody up for a drive to Mississippi?

“God yes,” said Kate. “No snow. Who is this Garth?”

Sam glanced at Dean before turning to her. “Well, he’s kind of the new Bobby. He handles phone calls, fakes background checks, helps amateur hunters out. That kinda thing.”

“Huh. Sounds useful,” she responded, shouldering her bag. Dean grunted. Once again they were in the Impala, Dean captaining his baby over oceans of tarmac as they headed south. Dean stuffed a Styx cassette into the cassette, idly tapping along to the beat. When he began singing along to the chorus of _Come Sail Away,_ Kate joined in from the back. Dean’s eyes flicked to hers in the mirror and he grinned. Soon the three of them were singing along, laughing and teasing each other when they forgot the words. Apparently Sam and Dean had played this game before, soon they were each trying to out-parody the other with outrageous song lyrics. Kate just laughed.

They finally pulled into Garth’s base in the late afternoon of the next day, the watery winter sun hitting the little two-seater pickup rusting in the driveway.

A skinny little guy with floppy brown hair, patchy scruff, and an Adam’s apple to shame all others wandered onto the low covered porch, shielding his eyes. “Sam! Dean!” he called, grinning. He gangled his way over to the Winchesters, hugging them in turn- they seemed less surprised about it than Kate expected.

“Hey Garth,” said Sam. “This is Kate, I know you guys haven’t met up ‘til now,”

“Hi miss,” he said, nodding in Kate’s direction. “You sure you wanna hang out with these baboons? I could probably find you a job ‘round here somewhere,” he drawled teasingly.

The group walked inside, settling in a room full of old journals, handwritten loose notes, empty coffee mugs, textbooks, research books with the library barcode still on, miniature sand gardens, at least five landline phones, a potted rosebush, and a framed photo of Garth and what had to be his parents. He and his mama had quite the resemblance.

After passing out beers, Garth asked, “You guys here ‘bout that ghoul problem over in ‘Bama?”

Sam shook his head. “No, actually we had a couple questions for you but you didn’t answer the phone.”

“Oh right, right. I went after a damn drowned spirit and it took my three cells. Hadn’t put you guys in the new ones yet. Sorry ‘bout that. What did ya need to ask me?”

“We’re looking for a witch. We know her name was Abigail Bishop when she lived in Eerie Pennsylvania and that she left right around January of last year. You see any local witch activity?”

“Not off the top of my head,” he burped and glanced at Kate, “but I’ll call my people and ask around.”

Dean nodded, looking amused. “You have people?” he asked teasingly.

“Yup. Got me a regular network set up now.”

“So you said something about ghouls?” asked Sam, putting on what Kate referred to as his ‘student face’- eyes intent, eyebrows drawn together, and air of intense concentration.

“Uh-huh. There’s a bunch of ‘em down state- the river flooded and there’s a high body count so they came swarming. I need some backup for that mess.”

“You make those calls and we are in,” said Dean.

“Thanks, guys. I’ll go clear a space out for you upstairs. Y’all are in charge of dinner.”

Kate and Dean wandered into the kitchen to rummage through the fridge. It was surprisingly well-stocked. “Can you believe this guy used to be a dentist?” he asked, looking at the salt shells scattered over the table.

“Um, no.” Kate made a face, “I would not want his hands in my mouth.” Dean laughed.

“Just wait, he grows on you.”

After dinner, Kate and the boys dragged their stuff in from the Impala. Garth acted like some kind of stewardess- “There’s a bed upstairs and a couch down here. You guys figure out amongst yourself who gets the floor. Later.” Garth walked out of the room, mumbling into one of many phones.

“Couch!” called Sam, sticking his finger on his nose.

Kate rolled her eyes. “I’ll sleep on the floor guys, just help me find some blankets.” She went upstairs in search of a linen closet, Dean followed her up with his bag. As she headed a back to the stairs with an armful of old quilts, Dean stuck his head out of the guest room/ ammunition storage room/ makeshift library.

“You could bunk with me, there’s enough room,” he said called. Kate paused at the head of the stairs, weighing her options. It didn’t take long. She hurriedly put the blankets away and went to grab her stuff. By the time she made it to bed, Dean was already stretched out on his back, arm across his eyes.

Gingerly, she crawled over the foot of the small bed and between Dean and the wall. Shifting onto her side, she sighed. She felt safe, and it was a wonderful new feeling. She drifted for a time, caught in the warm, soft place between consciousness and sleep. She felt Dean’s arm slip over her side and tug her against him, his nose grazing the hair at the nape of her neck. Just before falling asleep, Kate snuggled back more tightly to Dean’s solid warmth.

Dean propped himself up to look down at Kate. She was so different asleep; usually she radiated a sense of awareness, like she was prepared to flee at any time, like she was watching the whole world. Now she was softer and younger and, apparently, quite a cuddler. Breathing in the soft scent of her hair, he fell asleep.

~~~

Garth ducked as a ghoul lunged at him, jumping off the top of an exposed coffin. The cemetery was a madhouse and reeked of decay. Muddy, sodden coffins had erupted out of the soil during the flood, and the receding waters had left bodies in various stages of decomposition open to the sun. Under the sounds of fighting, the drone of thousands of flies buzzed over the field. Garth, Dean, Sam, and Kate each batted a small group of ghouls summoned to the burial ground- for them, this was a feast for kings.

The ghoul after Garth grabbed him and tossed him into a gaudy stone monument sporting frolicking cupids- it seemed quite out of place in its surroundings. He thumped to the ground behind a twisted casket lid.

Sam swung his machete through the neck of a ghoul that had taken the form of a small child. Another jumped on his back, digging its teeth into his shoulder. Sam backed into a monument, stunning the ghoul long enough for Sam to reach behind him and yank the creature off over his head. With one giant hand splayed over the creature’s bony chest, Sam pinned it to the ground and beheaded it with an overhand swipe. He spin around, hair sticking to his sweaty neck, to face the next group of ghouls.

Dean was busy playing a sick game of hide-and seek with a particularly vicious ghoul. This particular creep had taken the form of a young bride, wedding dress included. Dean felt like he was hunting some sort of pissed-off bridezilla- this was not the average hunt. She’d taken a hunk out of his forearm earlier when he’d led with his machete and she had dodged _into_ the swing instead of feinting away. Now she was dodging between rafted coffins, old marble monuments, and concrete monuments, her bloody and muddies wedding gown a macabre addition to the already gory scene. Dean slid his back around the corner of an old civil-war era family mausoleum, machete held tightly at his side. He caught site of his quarry dancing along the sandy levee. She grinned at him, her teeth the rusty brown of dried blood.

Kate popped up behind the levee and neatly decapitated the bride. She had blood matted in her tightly tied-back hair, a bruise across her temple, and mud on essentially all of her. “Rough day at work, honey?” called Dean as Kate hopped down.

“You should see yourself,” she called back before loping away to help out Sam. Dean skirted to the outside edge of the cemetery to look for any more ghouls thinking to escape into hidey-holes. Catching site of three adult ghouls dragging a corpse into a muddy grave, Dean grinned and set to work.

As Kate caught up with Sam, two more ghouls jumped him. Kate took them on, caught in that adrenaline-fueled moment of pure and total life-preservation. It was them or her; a response born in the first fish to crawl its way out of the primordial soup. Kate didn’t fight with the innate grace and efficiency of Sam, but she got the job done.

Well, she got the job done right until the moment the ghoul knocked her machete out of her hand. It grinned, and Kate lunged down to pull her bowie knife out of its ankle holster. Those books about the Winchesters were right- they really should put these things on bungee cords. The ghoul grinned at Kate, who held her ground. She knew that for this little knife to work, the thing had to be in close.

The ghoul lunged and pinned Kate’s wrist to the mausoleum behind her. It grinned; its warm breath carrying the stench of rotten meat left out to bake in the dry sun- like low tide in August. Kate head-butted the thing, but only ended up with a headache and blurry vision for her troubles. Right as she accepted that, well, this was it, Garth’s thin face popped next to hers. “That ain’t no way to treat a lady,” he chided the ghoul before beheading it. Warm blood splattered over Kate’s already tacky face.

Dean jogged up, grinning. “Told you he’d grow on ya’,” he said. Sam walked over to join you, breathing heavily. I think that’s it. Dean, you scout around the perimeter?”

“Yep, I think out work here is done. And we all have our limbs. If that don’t call for a beer, I don’t know what does.”

Garth hosed the whole group off in the yard. Really. He said he didn’t have enough hot water to handle the mess of four people, and that this would just be easier. It certainly was humiliating. After everyone was showered and inside and fed, beers were finally consumed. Garth chugged down a whole beer in one go, belched and then giggled into the air. Kate watched in horrified fascination while the Winchesters watched Kate.

“Okay, so you hear from anybody?” Sam asked Garth.

He hiccupped. “Yup. Couple of my gals said there’s been some weird stuff down in New Orleans, but I don’t know if that’ll help you none. The place is chock-full of hoodoo.”

Kate thought about that. “It’s actually really smart. If she went to New Orleans, she’s hiding somewhere full of background witchcraft, which makes finding one specific witch that much harder.”

“Y’all could just go rolling around and see what happens to Sam,” suggested Garth. Dean glared at him, menace in his stiff posture.

Garth held up his hands in surrender. “It was only a suggestion, calm down!”

“We’ll figure something out!” Dean insisted.

A day later, nothing had been figured out. Kate was curled up in the backseat reading a book on witchcraft, Dean kept flexing his fingers around the steering wheel, and Sam was sitting calmly in the passenger seat doing his calm-Sam thing. Kate suspected that Sam _knew_ his preternatural calm irritated Dean, and he did it just for that reason.

As the Impala rolled into the outskirts of New Orleans, the gaudy neon and party lights reflected in the midnight black of the paint, Sam broke. “Dean, seriously. Let’s just cruise around and see if that spell that repels me kicks in. We know that all we have to do to fix it is turn around and go the other direction.”

“But what if it doesn’t thins time, Sam? What if it kills you?”

Sam gave his older brother a level stare. In those few seconds of eye contact, Kate witnessed the brothers have an eloquent discussion- Sam was okay with dying. He’d done it before, he knew he’d do it again. The only question in Sam’s mind was the _when_ of the inevitable. Dean knew Sam felt like that, and Dean would let the whole world burn before he allowed his brother to die again. Dean’s entire existence boiled down to the preservation of Sam’s. And that was all there was to say.

Kate looked away. This moment was almost too intimate for her to watch- she knew she was the odd man out in this little group.

“What choice do we have, Dean?” Sam asked quietly, gently. “We can’t find her in a city of witchcraft. We can’t summon her. This will at least get us close.”

Dean didn’t respond, but he cruised through the town, occasionally muttering about traffic and witches and fate and bodily fluids. They’d worked their way through the garden district, the art district- which seemed to personally insult Dean- the downtown industrial area, and finally into the oldest French Quarter. Sam was fascinated by their surroundings; his nose was practically against the glass of his window for most of the drive. Kate knew that under different circumstances, Sam would love to explore all of the cultures of the old delta city.

As Dean turned onto Conti Street, Sam slapped his hands to his eyes. “Dean, I can’t see,” Sam yelled, voice panicked. He began to cough and wheeze, his hands shaking.

The road was one way and far to narrow for Dean to turn around, even if he wanted to. Without a word, eyes rock hard, Dean threw the old car in reverse and slapped his right hand on the back of the seat. Looking out the back window, Dean floored the Impala. Tires squealed, and the Impala flew backwards, Dean masterfully spinning the wheel one-handed. He neatly avoided a car turning onto the street by putting the wheels of the car on the sidewalk and spinning right past it. At first chance Dean pulled onto a side street and drove away.

Sam’s breathing had grown less and less labored as the car spun away from that block of the city. Blinking hard, he said evenly, “I still can’t see.”

Dean pulled his eyes of the road long enough to glance into his brother’s sightless ones. “Still? We got away!” he yelled. Dean yelled when he was afraid.

“I know. We probably have to kill her to fix this one.” Sam was visibly trying to keep himself calm. He kept taking big, even breaths, rubbing his huge hands along the tops of his thighs. Silence descended on the car once more.

Dean drove until they were outside the central part of the city. Under a flickering motel sign boasting of color TV and air conditioning, he brought the Impala to a stop.

Sam felt the motion stop. Voicing what was on everyone’s mind, he asked, “How can I fight blind? How can I do _any_ of this blind?” His voice was tinged with rising hysteria. Sam was trapped in the dark- a dark he knew held all sorts of deadly forces. And most of them were after him.


	8. Cursed 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final showdown between the Winchesters and the witch who took Sam's sight.

Watching Sam bumble sightlessly around the motel room was enough to break Kate’s heart. After he smashed his shins into the formica end table, he adopted a slow, shuffling gate, his long arms held slightly away from his body. Dean hauled his stuff into the room and dropped Sam’s stuff on the left bed as usual.

Then Dean went into caretaking mode, and suddenly Kate could picture it all- Dean feeding baby Sam the last of the supplies when John was gone on a long hunt; toddler Sam crawling into Dean’s bed after a nightmare; elementary school Sam asking Dean to sign his permission slip- the teacher said that a _parent or guardian_ had to sign, and Sam couldn’t think of anyone more guarding than his big brother. Kate could see it all, because when Sam was hurt and scared this giant of a man turned to his brother for help and comfort, and Dean had love to spare.

Dean ducked into the bathroom with a handful of Sam’s things. He came back out a few seconds later when the water was running in the shower and led Sam to the doorway. “Johns straight ahead, shower to the left, sink to the right. Towels are over the toilet, your clothes are on the right side of the sink, your toothbrush on the left. Shampoo is in the left corner of the tub.”

He stepped out and shut the door before Sam’s embarrassment and despair could grow any higher. Dean and Kate sat in silence while the pipes rattled and squealed in the hideously wallpapered walls, trying to accept the implications of Sam’s blindness. There was no way they could risk taking Sam anywhere in this condition- protecting him alone would probably result in them all getting killed. That had to be the witch’s plan- draw out Dean Winchester, kill him, and then find and kill Sam.

They only had one thing going for them- as far as she knew, the witch had no idea Kate was hunting with the Winchesters. Kate knew she was no Sam, but having the element of surprise shouldn’t be taken lightly.

Kate mulled this over until Sam go out of the shower and it was her turn in the bathroom. Sam walked out, his clothes in a ball against his chest, his toes bare and shuffling along the stained carpet. Kate brushed past him, knowing that Dean had the situation well in hand.

When she came back out into the main room, Sam was sitting on his bed and Dean was at the rickety table. Kate knew she’d walked into the middle of some discussion, but she headed for her bag anyway. “What’s the plan?” she finally asked, breaking the silence. She plopped down on the foot of Dean’s bed.

“I’m stuck here, useless,” said Sam. He turned his face away from Kate.

Dean’s jaw was set, his eyes determined, his entire demeanor resolute. “We ward this place with everything we’ve got and then Kate and I will go get this bitch. Tonight.”

“What? No!” said Sam, turning to face his brother.

Dean was sure. “We gotta leave you Sammy, and I guarantee the witch knows we’re here since you tripped her little warning system. By tomorrow she’ll be ready for a battle. We have to go now.”

Kate and Dean went to grab supplies out of the trunk. Dean spray-painted every sigil he knew on the walls, ceiling, windows, and floor. Kate set out hex bags, salted the room, made sure one of the first aid kits was easily accessible, and turned to look at Sam sitting on his bed, his shoulders slumped, his head cocked just slightly as he listened to Kate and Dean move around the room.

Grabbing up his duffel, Dean walked towards his brother and dropped an old sawed-off in his lap with a handful of shells. “You point and shoot unless it’s me and Kate,” he said. Sam nodded, running his thumb over the butt of the old gun. The motel door clicked shut behind Kate, and she and Dean walked to the Impala, piling supplies back into the trunk before slamming it shut.

The old black car rolled smoothly onto the road, a warhorse off to battle once more, a loyal steed in the age-long battle between the Winchester family and the rest of the world. Kate shifted uncomfortably in the front passenger seat, Sam’s seat.

“Do you have a plan, Dean?” she finally asked quietly.

“Find her and give her hell.” He paused for a moment before flicking his eyes away from the road and towards Kate. In that glance of piercing green, Kate saw all that she needed to know- Dean didn’t think he was coming out of this one, and he didn’t mind that as long as Sam survived.  Dean continued, “When we find her, shit is gonna hit the fan, Kate. You need to promise me to run. When you can’t do anymore, when the stakes get too high, you take the car and make it back to Sammy. Leave her to me.”

Kate shook her head, eyes closed, wordlessly denying his demand. “I’m not leaving you Dean.” A muscle in his jaw jerked, and he didn’t say anything about it until he pulled the car to a stop along the sidewalk of Conti Street a few hundred feet past where Sam’s blindness had begun. There were two buildings to potentially hide the witch; they both were mystic and voodoo shops with small apartments over top.

Standing over the open trunk of the Impala, Dean wordlessly dropped the keys into Kate’s jacket pocket. They felt much heavier than they actually wanted; the keys weighted with the fact that for Dean, this was a suicide mission. Kate pushed that out her head.

“She doesn’t know about me, and we can use that to our advantage,” Kate said quietly, hoping to blend into the light but steady stream of foot traffic along the sidewalk. “But that will only work if we go into the right house off the bat- the wrong one will just call the cops.”

Dean responded by stuffing a Beretta into the back waistband of her jeans and pulling her jacket over it. He passed her a series of knives, which Kate dutifully stashed on her person.

“We’ll snoop around a bit before going in.” he said. “You good enough to pick the lock on the back door while I have her distracted?”

“Yeah, I think so,” said Kate, checking to make sure her picks were still in her pocket. Her knuckles brushed Dean’s keys, reminding her of their purpose tonight. She grimaced a little.

“Now, witches are humans still, they just have powers. You can kill them like anybody else, but they make it damn hard to get close enough to do it.”

“Right,” said Kate. “Hence the sneak approach.”

Kate and Dean strolled along, slowing when they reached the first of the two shops in question. Dean scanned the displays and signs, but didn’t see anything alarming. They meandered along, occasionally peeking in other front windows to keep up the tourist pretense. When they arrived at the other shop under suspicion, Dean took everything in. Leaning close to Kate, he pointed to two small brass flower pots standing on either side of the threshold. “I think this is it,” he murmured. “These have powerful wards on them.

They just looked like some vaguely Celtic pattern to Kate, but she nodded. “Okay. I’ll go around back. What will you do?”

Dean’s nostrils flared, his eyes cold. “I’ll keep her plenty busy, don’t you worry.”

Kate skirted around the back of the building through the narrow alley. Hunching down, her hood pulled over her face, she inserted the silvery picks in the old storm door and fiddled with the tumblers. When she hears a crash from inside, she had to take a deep breath and remind herself that her purpose was to be a surprise, and for that she needed to be quiet.

Finally, after long tense moments, the lock gave with an almost inaudible snick. Kate eased inside the doorway and let it close quietly behind her as her eyes adjusted. She could hear shouting from upstairs, mostly Dean. She sneaked up to the apartment quietly, listening outside the door, only able to see in through the thin crack between the frame and door.

Dean had his weapon out and pointed at a smirking… man. Turned out the witch was a dude all along. Huh.

“You can’t shoot me,” he drawled, looking far too satisfied with himself. “You and I both know that it would kill your little brother.” The witch took the knife he was holding and held it against the crook of his arm. “Do you need reminding?” he asked sassily.

Dean lowered his gun to point at the floor. “Why don’t you tell me what this is about?” asked Dean, his eyes never flicking to the door.

_Shit._ Kate crouched in the shadows trying to come up with another plan. She’d completely forgotten about this aspect of the curse in the face of Sam’s blindness, and she hated herself for it. She needed to find whatever it was that allowed him to put all of his injuries on Sam.

She slunk back down the stairs and looked up at the second floor windows. She knew the two on this wall went into the room where Dean and the witch were having it out. She didn’t think the witch would keep something so powerful in the shop, so it was probably somewhere in the bedroom. Running around the building, she looked at the façade and sighed. Her only hope to get in there was to stand on top of the shop sign. Considering that she didn’t have the upper body strength of say, oh, Sam Winchester, that was a dead end.

Back inside and back up the stairs she went. Kate’s newest mission: incapacitate the witch so they could search. Peeking in the slit, she saw that the witch had tied Dean to a chair and was standing over him tauntingly. Sliding her knife out of its holster, she slammed the door opened and tackled the witch.

Sitting in the hotel room, Sam was trying to stay calm while listening to an audiobook he had on his beat up old ipod. It had been a bitch to find the right playlist without his sight, but after enough failed attempts to drive him mad he had finally succeeded. “Ow!” he yelped suddenly, his left shoulder and hip aching like he’d hit something. “What was- oh. Fuck.” In that moment Sam realized the implications for this- that Kate and Sam had found the witch and that things were getting physical. Shakily he dragged the first aid kit onto the bed, just-in-case, before laying back on the pillows and bracing himself for more.

Kate slammed into the witch, pushing him towards Dean, who headbutted him. As the witch went wheeling back, Kate pounced on him, tossing her knife towards Dean. The witch hit the floor and rolled; Kate’s weight wasn’t enough to keep him pinned down for long. Dean’s chair smashed, but Kate couldn’t look to see what was going on.

In seconds, Dean was helping Kate wrestle the witch flat and used the scraps of his bindings to tie the witch’s wrists and feet. Dean tugged off his belt with a whir of leather over denim and used it to strap the witch’s arms to his sides.

“Very nice,” said Dean, crouching by the witch’s head. “I like things much better this way.” He glanced at Kate, who was standing a few feet away, scanning the room. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said absently. “Just looking for whatever it is that tethers him to Sam.”

Dean faced the witch once more. “Where is it?” he asked calmly. The witch rolled his eyes. Dean just settled back on his heels, his demeanor unreadable. “Contrary to popular opinion, I am a patient man. You hear about my trip to hell? Yea? Then you’d best give me what I want.”

Kate came out of the bedroom. “I don’t see anything obvious,” she called. Hurrying to the bookshelf in the corner of the room, she beginning tugging books off the shelves, flipping through them, and dropping them unceremoniously on the floor. “He had to have instructions to do this, that’ll at least tell us what he used.”

The witch’s eyes widened minutely, but just enough for Dean Winchester- hell-trained, pool hustler, life-long liar- to notice. “Yeah, there’s a book over there,” he called.

The witch began speaking a stream of what may have been Latin, but sounded a bit more guttural. Dean clamped his hand over the man’s mouth as flames began licking up the side of the room. Perfect.

“Okay, pressure’s on!” barked Dean.

Kate grabbed a thick book off the top shelf. It was wrapped in the dust jacket for “Salem’s Lot” by Stephen King.

“Really?” she asked sarcastically. Flipping through the book, she groaned. “This is in Latin!” The man had the thing annotated like a cookbook, which turned out to be his final mistake. One of the bookmarked pages had the words _blood, full moon Feb. 13,_ and the initials _SW_ scribbled in the margin.

The fire was up the whole side wall and growing quickly. Kate sprinted to Dean’s side and shoved the book in his face. “Read this!”

“I barely know Latin! That’s Sam’s thing!” Dean’s lips moved as he scanned over the pages. “All I got from this is that he has to keep something on him at all times,” he yelled over the crackle of the flames. He tossed the witch over his shoulder and jogged down the stairs. They ran back towards the car, shoving through the crowd gathering to watch the blaze.

“He’s kidnapping Daniel!” some woman screamed. Dean poured on the steam, shoving the witch into the backseat and diving in after him.

Kate jerked the keys from her pocket and slid into the driver’s seat. Shoving the key into the ignition, she set the car rolling before Dean had even had a chance to close the back door.

They tore down the street, flames and flashing blue lights reflected in the chrome of the bumper. “They’ll be looking for us now,” said Dean as he climbed over the seat to sit beside Kate. “We need to pick up Sam and get out of here. We’ll deal with him,” he jerked his thumb towards the backseat, “later.”

The drive was fairly short, but Dean still tensed each time Kate braked or clutched. She rolled her eyes and ignored it. Back at the motel, Dean ran through the door to check on his brother and grab their stuff. Kate slid into the center of the front bench seat, loathe to sit next to that filthy thing passing for a human in the back. He started to mumble something, and she whacked him on the head.

“Hey!” Sam yelled, shuffling out of the motel.

“Oh, right,” Kate responded. “This is weird. Sorry.”

Once Dean had guided his brother to the door he came around the car to the driver’s side, running his hands lovingly over the dash. “I only drove for forty minutes,” Kate snapped. Sam just shook his head, easily imagining how his possessive brother handled that.

The drove for several hours, Kate sandwiched between the brothers. Dean would send angry glances into the back every so often, but it was otherwise an uneventful trip. He pulled into a state park near the Texas border. The Impala bounced down a trail, the headlights the only source of illumination around.

After a few minutes Dean pulled to the side and left the engine idling. He grabbed the witch out of the backseat and tossed him down a few yards in front of the Impala. Kate helped Sam sit down on the hood of the car between the headlights and went to stand by Dean. Methodically she began searching though his pockets while Dean took rings and necklaces off of him. They played rock paper scissors to see who would have to reach in his jeans pockets- Kate lost. They sat back after a few moments, a small pile of loose change, a lighter, and pocket lint mixed in with crumpled receipts between them.

Dean surveyed the witch again, who was now gagged and writhing angrily. “If I have to put gloves on to find this thing, we are all going to regret it,” he said. Sam turned a little green and Kate covered her eyes in embarrassment.

“Did you take his shoes off?” asked Sam from his perch.

“Nope,” said Dean, clearly frustrated with himself. He crouched down to tug off the man’s boots. A small metal object fell out of the left shoe; Dean picked up and held it in the light. It was about the size of a coin, and dull silver in the yellow light of the car. One side had some sort of symbol on it.”

“How do we turn the juju off?” Dean asked, standing. “Salt and burn?” He moved to the back of the Impala.

“What about holy fire?” asked Sam. “That stuff will destroy anything, including archangels.”

“Good idea, man,” said Dean, rummaging. He returned to the front of the car with an old clay vial. Pouring a few drops of liquid on the ground, he dropped a match. Blue and orange flames crackled to life. Dean dropped in the token and stood back. The witch started to shudder and twitch, his muffled cries audible through the gag. Dean nodded to himself and then turned to Sam, watching him intently.

All Kate could think was that she was watching some Indiana Jones shit going down- it looked like the witch was just dissolving- Kate guessed it was all his stolen years and injuries catching up with him.

Sam saw a few spots in his vision, and blinked, hardly daring to hope- and there was Dean, his eyes in shadows from the headlights, backlit by the millions of stars visible in the sky. “Dean!” he exclaimed, looking around. There was Kate grinning widely at him, her hair a mess- they were out in the woods somewhere, giant live oaks and pines all around him. He hugged Dean tightly, thumping him on the back.

“Oh god, it’s good to see you guys again,” he said, his dimples deep in his happy face.

“I’m happy you’re seeing us, too,” said Kate, coming up to get her hug.

The three of them piled into the Impala, everything back to the way it should be- Sam was whole and healthy, Dean was still alive and kicking, and Kate had somewhere to belong. Dean turned the car onto the interstate, shoving a Van Halen tape into the slot. Kate and Sam just smiled and sang along, whooping wildly, the windows down. They were all alive and together; for this brief moment in time they were just themselves- there wasn’t a hunt, they weren’t the vessels of the apocalypse, they weren’t fighting impossible odds. They were just family on the road together, their laughter and the roar of the engine a kind of music all on its own.


	9. In the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel shows up at the bunker and announced he thinks the world is coming to an end- he’s seeing omens that last occurred before Noah’s flood. This prompts Cas, the Winchesters, and Kate to set off on a trip to find God. They do find him, and the news is not good.

“Dean.”

“Dammit Cas, I told you! Don’t sneak up on a man like that!”

The angel took a step back, the furrow between his eyes deepening. “Apologies. I forgot in my haste to bring you news.”

“Okay, Cas, alright- what news?”

“I believe my Father is going to destroy the world.”

Dean opened his mouth, closed it, cocked his head to the side, blinked, and finally managed to ask, “What?” He had one eyebrow raised, his eyes focused on the rumpled angel.

Castiel sighed. “Perhaps it would be better if I explained it to all of you from the beginning.”

Dean turned and walked along the corridor towards the library where Kate and Sam were reading. They were sprawled in opposite armchairs, Sam’s long legs stretched in front of him, Kate’s dangling over the arm of the chair.

“Hey. Listen up,” barked Dean. Cas stepped into the library to stand beside him, and Kate scooted until she was facing the men in the entrance way, interested in what was going on. Dean rarely used that tone outside of a hunt.

“I believe God is going to destroy the world.” Castiel repeated in his low, husky voice. “I am seeing omens that last appeared before Noah’s flood.”

Sam leaned forward in his chair, hair flopping over his forehead. He brushed it back impatiently, asking, “Noah’s flood was real?”

“Really, Sam?” asked Dean caustically. “That’s the first thing you ask?”

“Yes. It was real. Of course, it was not a global flood, it merely flooded Mesopotamia and portions of what is now Asia Minor. But yes, a catastrophic flood did occur, wiping out much of humanity. My father can be…capricious.”

“Tell me about it,” Sam said, face deadpan.

“Wait, wait- what omens are you seeing? I thought God was off somewhere meditating or, or doing yoga and ignoring the whole lot of us.” Dean’s jaw was set.

“The Lord does not answer to anyone. I have been seeing… patterns. Natural disasters, mass deaths, viral breakouts. Such massive and controlled disasters that they could only have been the work of a higher power. The highest.”

“And you never saw omens like these at any other time?” Kate asked, the implications of such a thing finally sinking in.

“No. It is happening again,” said Castiel, eerily calm under the circumstances.

“Well, what do you want us to do about it?” asked Dean, voice raised and face flushed. “We’ve already stopped the world from ending how many times? Not even you could find God!”

“I know. I know all you have done, and I wish I did not have to ask for more. But as you have stated, I was unable to find my Father on my own- you are humans, you do not think as angels think. You may be able to find him.”

“You were using the amulet Sam gave me, and uh, well, I don’t have it anymore.”

Castiel’s face fell just slightly. “I see.”

Sam cleared his throat, his eyes avoiding Dean. “Uh, I still have it. I grabbed it out of the trash before we left that day. It’s in my room, I’ll just go grab it, then.” Unfolding to his full height, he walked out of the room, the most innately graceful man that Kate had ever seen.

Dean slumped into one of the chairs at the work tables, his elbow resting on the cool surface, his hand over his eyes. In that moment, with Castiel waiting patiently and Kate looking on, Dean considered just stopping. Just getting in the Impala and driving away with Sam and Kate and hiding where no one would find them, where he could keep his family safe. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep doing this- even Jesus only had to walk the earth preaching for three years, right?

Sam walked back in the room, the amulet tight in his fist, just the cord hanging down. Dean felt a twinge of remorse- he hadn’t meant to hurt Sam that day, he had just been unable to deal with the past. The fewer ties he had to it, the better. _He hadn’t meant to hurt Sam-_ yeah, story of his fucking life. Scrubbing his hand down his face, he looked to Castiel. The angel met his gaze with a level blue stare.

“Where do we start?” he asked in a voice strangely free of emotion. “How do we go about this?”

“Ah. I can help there,” said the angel, fidgeting with the ends of his tie. “The omens have been shifting slowly- they started in the Himalayas, deep in Nepal, moved south through Africa, over to South America, and now seem to be centrally located in Mexico. Perhaps my Father is touring his creation one last time.”

“So we head for the border,” said Kate, fingers working absently. “See if we can meet up with him before he knows what we’re doing?”

“He is God,” said Castiel, as though that explained everything. At their blank looks, he added, “The Lord is omnipotent. He will know we are looking for him.”

“So this is useless,” Kate replied, slouching back into her seat.

“No. Why would I come to you if this were a pointless errand- as you would say, a ‘wild goose chase’? I do not think God will flee us if we find him. It is more likely that he would kill us.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Perfect. Just fucking perfect.”

Castiel screwed up his face before enlightenment dawned. “Ah. Sarcasm. This is indeed far from an ideal situation.”

“Castiel, what happens to angels if God decided to wipe out all of humanity?”

“We go on. Unless God decides to end us as well,” he added as an afterthought. “But yes, during the flood we just continued to serve our lord.”

Dean thumped a fist on the table. “Do you think he will spare part of humanity again? Like he did last time?”

“I don’t know, Dean. My job is to protect humanity, not just a specific subpopulation.”

“Fine, Cas. Tomorrow morning we’ll make for Texas.”

~~~

After a few hours in the quiet Impala Cas began to fidget. Kate watched him out of the corner of her eye before turning to watch him squirm. “You okay over there?” she asked.

“I find this mode of transportation quite tedious,” Castiel complained. “It is one of the things at which angels are far superior.”

“Would you really want the job of keeping a handle on humans if we could _fly?_ ” asked Kate, amused. “Just imagine all the stealth-flight serial killers, and the demons who could hide behind cloud-cover, vampires building actual nests and swooping down on victims.”

Castiel’s face went still, Kate could almost see him inspecting the argument for flaws. “Point well-made,” he conceded. “I would not want to be a nursery guard of a winged infant human.”

From the front seat, Sam laughed. “Really Cas? Kate thinks of actual vampire nests and you have reservations because of flying two-year olds?” he turned back around, chuckling.

“Can I not meet you there after your arrival?” the angel asked plaintively.

“No,” said Dean in a voice that would book no argument. “You dragged us into this, so we are doing it our way. You don’t just get to fly off this time.”

Castiel sat back, his face turned to the window. Comfortable quiet descended on the car once more as they rolled further and further south. Kate had always wanted to see the country growing up, but she never imagined it would be from the backseat of a classic car with a pair of outcast brothers she would come to love as family. They laughed at her when she wheedled to be allowed sightseeing trips on the way home- “Hey, it’s Texas, and I don’t care how many times you have already seen it!” she protested when they laughed at her request to see the Alamo.

That was what it was like for Winchester and Company- they’d been in the hot seat so many times it was no longer a foreign feeling. When one spends every day thinking they could bite it at any minute, peace becomes the unusual sensation. The boys had lived through a demonic house-fire, neglectful parenting, opening the gates of hell, hell itself, the apocalypse, purgatory, Leviathans, vengeful angels, and psychotic humans. By now it seemed that God was the only thing they hadn’t dealt with.

They made it to southern Texas as the sun set, painting the sky a deep violet-red. Even at night, the heat was enough to make the lungs wither. The air was still, too still- nothing rustled, not the dry leaves on the low shrubs, no birds flying overhead, not even the dry silt that crunched under their feet. Castiel looked up at the sky, the expanse of stars brilliant in the wide sky. Sam fidgeted with the amulet- he still hadn’t given it back to Dean; neither of them mentioned it.

“Now what?” asked Sam, scanning the dark landscape.

“Now we pray,” said Castiel solemnly.

It was too stuffy to stay in the car, the spring heat still uncomfortable enough to drive them outside. Kate spread a couple blankets beside the Impala and they sat down, Sam and Dean sharing a skeptic, _what the hell_ look. Castiel folded his legs neatly, his hands resting palm-up on his knees. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before cracking one open to peer around. Kate was leaned against the smooth paint of the car, her face tipped up to the sky, lips slightly apart. Sam had his head bowed, hair falling over his face like a curtain.

Sam had mentioned once that he prayed every day. Dean had teased him about it, but really, he’d never understood it. A life without a god made more sense- bad things happened, life fucking sucked, and you got on with it. But if God was real, if he was really the omniscient and powerful being that the Bible and Castiel described, then he was a class A dick. He had ignored the cries of the needy, good people died horrific deaths, and nothing made any damn sense. Dean closed his eyes and listened for motion around them; it was in his nature to protect those he loved, he didn’t even think of it anymore.

When he opened his eyes, Dean was standing on the surface of the ocean. He grabbed his gun out of his jeans, spun around, and then stowed the weapon- he didn’t know what good it would do him out here. “Sam! Sammy!” he yelled, desperation tinging his voice.

Hearing a rustling behind him, Dean looked around. Sam and Kate and Cas were there, looking puzzled. Kate was crouched down on her heels, fingers playing in the water, a speculative look on her face. Castiel was looking all around, like he expected to see something else. Sam strode forward and hugged his brother tightly, thumping him on the back.

“Well, this is pretty symbolic,” he said, gesturing around them. “It’s right out of the gospels.

“Very good, Sam Winchester,” someone said. Behind the little group was a figure of shining white- no obvious features, no clear traits, just a bipedal hominid of glowing light. His voice sounded like the clamoring of distant bells echoing over a harbor or valley.

Castiel took one step forward, seemingly unaware of his actions. His eyes were wide and electric blue, full of wonder, his lips slightly parted. “Father?” he asked, eyes unblinking.

“Castiel, my child,” God boomed, head turning towards the angel. “I am so pleased to see you. I have felt you seeking me for some time now.”

“If you’ve felt him seeking and heard Sam praying, why didn’t you answer? Why were you gone?” Dean’s anger outran his common sense as it sometimes did. He just didn’t understand- family was the most important thing; family was the only thing, goddammit! After living without a mother, years of being left behind by his father, watching Sam go off to college, and trying to protect the whole world, Dean had had enough. He stepped towards the radiant figure once, twice. “How could you?” he thundered, fists clenched in anger. “If we are your children, how could you leave us?” he asked, quieter now, his shoulders slumped.

“Oh, Dean Winchester. I was here, I was always here. But like my mortal creations, I can feel despondent and without hope.” He spoke slowly and deliberately, like a great orator of old. “I created humanity to keep me company, to populate the beautiful world that I had created. But like those in Noah’s time, your people have turned away from the Lord. They have changed my words to them; they hate and hurt one another. It makes me wonder if there is still good in the world.”

Kate finally spoke up. “Why do you have to ask that? You’re God. If you don’t think there is enough good in the world, do something about it.”

“Ah yes, young Kate Monroe,” he murmured. “Always one to get to the point. Good and bad are all the product of free will. By allowing humans to make decisions on their own, consequence is born. Every effect has a cause.”

“Okay Gandalf, let’s just cut to the chase,” snapped Dean. “You planning on destroying it all or not? ‘Cause you’ve got your boy here pretty darn convinced you’re gonna go medieval on us.”

Castiel turned to Dean, his face scrunched. “No, Dean, Noah was not alive during the Medieval-oh. You were speaking figuratively.” He turned back to the glowing god-figure in front of them. Dean rolled his eyes.

“I have been contemplating a new beginning,” God’s voice tolled. “I just see so much pain and hurtfulness in this world. My children have turned away from me, my creation destroys itself. Nothing is as it should be.”

“So that’s it? Oh, things went wrong, better start over? No!” Dean was yelling at the Lord. Kate looked at Castiel, sure that the horror on his face was reflected on her own. She had the sudden urge to scoot away from Dean just in case of spontaneous combustion on his part, but decided against it. Like he said, family sticks together.

Sam stepped forward, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “What can we do to convince you otherwise? There is still good in the world, people are always trying to be better! If we can try, why can’t you?”

“What could you show me that the past four thousand years could not? I know what I created.”

“Father,” Castiel asked tentatively. “You set my garrison to protect the humans; to safeguard your greatest creation. I do not understand.” He gazed beseechingly at the lord, trying to comprehend.

“Neither do I,” God responded, voice rumbling like a passing train. “But you seem to have a great love for humanity, Castiel. You have a month. Thirty human days from now, bring me any evidence that the world should be spared and I will listen.

“Thirty days,” said Kate, disbelieving. Hell, high schoolers took longer than that to pick a college, and God was giving them that long to come up with a plan to save the entire planet?

In a blink, they were back on the blanket beside the Impala, the marble-hard sea and glowing God gone as though they had never been. For a split second there was only silence, the four of them glancing around and hoping it as not all some weird dream.

There’s only a bit more than seven billion people in the world, no fucking pressure at all,” said Kate sourly.

“What are we going to do, Dean? How do we change God’s mind?” asked Sam, eyes wide, fingers spread and hands up in total disbelief. Castiel just sat quietly, looking around.

Dean sighed, a deep sigh of a soldier too long on the front, a soul with too little encouragement, a life with too little light. He sank his head into both palms, his elbows on his knees. After two deep breaths, he raised his hands. “I don’t know, man. I have no fucking clue.”

Castiel chimed in, “It in the moments- that is when humanity shines the brightest.”

“Moments, Cas?” asked Kate, intrigued.

“Our garrison was tasked to watch humanity,” he explained, deep voice falling into a raspy story-telling tone.” We watched for millennia as civilizations rose and fell, fashions changed, languages evolved. We saw everything, the plagues and wars and starving times. But the reason that angels envy you, the reason Anna fell, is for the moments. The way a woman looks when her firstborn is laid on her chest, warm and slick. A man’s face when he arrives home from a long trip and his little girl runs to greet him. A toddler’s look on Christmas morning, the passion of meaningful intercourse. A brother back from the grave,” he nodded in Dean’s direction. “Moments.”

“…fireworks in a field,” muttered Dean, his eyes focused on the horizon. “Taste of pie.”

Sam nodded. “A dog coming when you call, waking up to hot coffee with nowhere to go.”

He turned to Kate, wondering what little things she savored. Several months ago she’d mentioned that all she really hope for anymore were hot showers and the chance to finish a couple books- looking forward to anything else just led to disappointment. “Waking up slowly with someone else and lazy, rainy Sunday afternoons with a good book.”

Sam’s lips quirked- it was an improvement. “Okay, Cas,” he said. “Humans do have good moments, but those don’t absolve humanity as a whole- a few moments of pleasure can’t erase all the harm we do.”

“But there are so many wonderful people,” said Castiel earnestly. “The malicious ones are just easier to spot.”

Dean stood up, back to business as usual. “Okay, we’re on a hunt for good people-whatever that friggin means- and ‘moments’. Peachy. Let’s hit the road; we got work to do.”

Dutifully they piled into the Impala, dust spiraling up as they pulled away, each of them in quiet contemplation. Sam and Dean were facing the end of the world once again, united for the fate of humanity. Castiel was distressed and worried- his purpose, singular and consistent, had been to protect the people, and now God was threatening to wipe it all out. Kate was deep in thought- this wasn’t just her death, or even that of the Winchesters. This was about the entire world, everything in it. Everyone, present and future. On a pair of doomed brothers, a mid-level angel, and her- jumpy, disillusioned, and more than a little disappointed in herself.  

On the Impala rumbled, headlights shining over the tarmac that unrolled endlessly- unlike the time earth had left. Once again the Winchesters were fighting a war for which they would never be thanked, gathering scars most people would never see, and now, well, now those men were going to bat for a world that didn’t even know it could all come crumbling down in one month’s time.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Sam, Cas, and Kate bounce around the country looking for the "good people" God requested. Unfortunately, nobody can quite define what a good person is. In the end, they have to face God anyway.

Dean stood before the glowing figure of light, shoulders squared, feet planted, jaw set. He radiated defiance and determination with every molecule of his being, treating his creator the same way he would any other megalomaniac creature.

“So,” boomed God, his voice rolling out like a foghorn across still waters, “have you found good people; those for whom the world is worth saving?”

Kate and Sam stepped forward, bracketing Dean, their shoulders touching- a human wall of sheer rebellion, three soldiers battling unfathomable odds. Castiel stood slightly off to the side, dark hair tousled, eyes subtly glowing- he radiated pure menace. God’s apathy for mankind had been the hardest on Cas, and his pain and disbelief had hardened into flinty resolve like magma cooling deep beneath the surface of the earth. He was going to stop God or die in the attempt.

“No,” said Dean. “We’ve got something better.”

~~

Kate swung her legs over the edge of the lawn chair, the plastic caning sagging after years of use. The early summer sun shone down, glinting off the chrome of the Impala and catching on the dented, scratched tools lying on the asphalt. The heels of Dean’s boots scraped over the ground and he scooted for better leverage under the engine of the Impala, just his feet and calves out for passer-byes to see.

“I figured you’d be more upset by this; more anxious,” she commented to the scuffed footwear.”

“Slide me the oil-pan,” asked Dean’s deep voice from under the car. Kate rose to do what he asked, shifting her weight idly as the used oil drained out of the car. Momentarily the pan came sliding back out, and soon Dean followed.

He wiped his hands on the dark bandana perpetually kept in the back pocket of his jeans. He methodically unscrewed the cap from a clean liter of oil and began pouring it loving into his Baby. He squinted up at the sun. “I’ve been playing the game for a long time, Kate. Hell, I have no idea how many times Sam and I have tried to save the world. Part of me agrees with the big fucker in the sky, but Sammy and me, well, we always try anyway. I guess I’m not strapping you and Sam in the car and rolling off a cliff because maybe this time, this time we have an out, and it doesn’t involve killing anyone.”

It had been eight days since the desert confrontation with God, and so far the search for good people had been one strike-out after another. In Arizona there had been a promising food service for the poor and homeless, but it turned out most of the workers were forced into it for community service. A priest in California had been diddling parishioners, and a non-profit volunteer was skimming money. Sure, they’d met some pleasant people and few who were really quite nice, but as of yet they hadn’t found anyone that God would stop the End of Times for.

Cas had popped off to foreign parts, claiming that there was a group of very reclusive Monks up in the Himalayas that might be of use.

Kate had been mumbling about how the term “good” was utterly subjective and that without a way to quantify goodness God could easily brush off whatever evidence they presented. Dean had thrown a copy of Great Expectations at her.  

“No, maybe she’s onto something,” said Sam. “We should go through the Bible and the Torah to see what God considers a good person.” That’s where he was currently, off in the library pouring through translations of the Torah and the Biblical scrolls.

Sam returned about an hour later and dropped a worn notebook in Kate’s lap. “That was a waste of time,” he huffed, dropping into Dean’s empty chair. Dean looked up from where he was busy waxing the roof of the Impala.

“Yeah? Spill it, man.”

Sam sighed. “We’ve got rules for tithing that involve goats, we’ve got the New Testament contradicting the Old Testament, we’ve got lessons about women washing the feet of their guests and just, well, if this is the stuff God is looking for…” he trailed off.

“If this is the stuff God is looking for, we ought to buy out weenies and marshmallows for the fireball now,” finished Kate drily.

That evening, after darkness had blanked the earth once more, Sam and Dean and Kate were lined up at the bar of another greasy diner, unfolding another worn cardboard menu stained with mystery sauces, smiling at another tired waitress who worked too many hours and made too little money.

When she returned with their food, Sam and Kate were busy arguing about the possibility of some sins being greater than others. “I’ve met the seven deadly sins, Kate, it’s a real thing.”

“No, but all people have sinned, and every sin is a mark against God’s laws. That makes it easier to figure out who a good person is, we just have to figure out how much they sin and if they regret doing it. If we did it your way we would have to count and weigh-”

The waitress dropped their food on the table, and Dean abruptly turned to her. “What makes a person good?” he asked, eyes free of their usual flirtatious twinkle.

“Being a good tipper.” The waitress sighted and pushed a loose strand of dishwater-brown hair off her forehead. “I’m sorry guys, this is the tenth day I’ve worked in a row.”

Dean smiled up at her encouragingly.

“I guess I agree with that guy who said that people who are nice to people beneath them without wanting something from them. Just being nice to random people without trying to get anything for it.” She walked away with a rueful shake of her head. Before leaving that night, Kate slipped an extra bill under her water glass.

The drove through the night, aimlessly bouncing across the country, the growl of the engine a familiar lullaby. As the sun was starting to come up Dean dragged himself into the lobby of a cheap motel, grabbing a paper on his way out.  

Once into the hotel room- smelling of stale air and dreams long dead- the three crashed, Sam stretched out on his belly, Kate wrapped around Dean.

Sam and Kate woke up when Dean slammed back into the room, coffee sloshing in precariously balanced cardboard cups. Dean tossed the paper overhand at Sam’s head, who appeared to field it with his eyes closed. Things like this had stopped surprising Kate months ago.

“Check this out. Guy here just got commended for running some kind of sanctuary for unwanted animals. Kinda sounds like what that lady at the diner was talking about? People beneath you? That includes animals, right?”

Kate rubbed the heel of her hand over her eyes.  “Where are we, anywhere?”

“Bumfuck, Colorado,” was Dean’s precise reply. He passed her a coffee.

An hour later the three of them were standing outside the gates of Secondhand Hope, Animal Sanctuary. They pressed the buzzer beside the gate, and soon saw a limping figure heading towards them. He bobbed along until the y were close enough to notice that peeking out from the hem of his trousers was a prosthetic leg.

Dean held out a badge. “Hi, we’re from the Denver Tribune and we’d like to run a story on this place.” He casually slipped the badge into his pocket.

“See the piece in the local paper?” The man asked, coding the gate open.

“Yep, that’s what brought us down here,” said Dean, stepping up. He stuck out his hand. “Name’s Young. This is my associate May and photographer Mary Romanov.” Kate held up a pawn-shop camera.

“I’m Mark Russell.” Everyone shook hands and then followed Mark up the stairs and onto the wide wooden expanse of the veranda.

“Have a seat,” their host said, gesturing to the worn wooden glider and rocking chairs.

Sam propped a notebook on his knee and pulled the cap off a cheap blue ballpoint with his teeth. “How did you get started, Mr. Russell?”

“Please, call me Mark.” He rubbed absently at his left knee, presumably where his flesh met the prosthetic.  “It started with an accident. I was out for a run one morning, and a car ran a light and clipped me. The driver fled the scene, and I was left barely conscious on the road. My calf was crushed, and they amputated during the initial surgery.”

There was a long, quiet pause, and then Mark’s eyes focused on Sam again. “My parents passed away a few years ago, and I didn’t have any feelings. While I was in hospice care I made an attempt on my life. I was so sure that I had nothing left to live for.

One of my friends mentioned they were adopting a former racing dog on one of their visits. She mentioned a local greyhound rescue that places retired or injured dogs with family homes.

That image stuck with me. I kept picturing these beautiful, aerodynamic racing dogs that were being euthanized because they weren’t winning or competitively sprinting anymore. I started checking the website of the greyhound placement program, and one day they posted a picture of a dog named Hope’s Promise. The whole thing smacked of fate.  At this point I was in the middle of physical therapy, trying to learn to walk again. I told myself that once I was up, once I could move, I’d find that dog and bring her home.

I did it. I called the agency and they held her for me for two months. This place belonged to my family, so I renovated the house and brought Hope home. She saved my life.”

He stood up, leaning more heavily on his good leg. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

He limped down the steps and set off across the yard. “I got to thinking about how many other animals might be out there like Hope, just waiting for someone to love. I found a few investors and they made all of this possible.”

He came to a stop outside a renovated horse barn.

“How do you keep all this going?” asked Dean as he slid back the door.

“Through grants and donations, mostly.”

The four humans stepped through the door and into what had to be considered a cat wonderland.  There were free-hanging shelves running over the walls, tiny hammocks swing from stall doors and the shelving pieces, and cat-hair covered beds everywhere. One of the old horse stalls had been turned into a glass room that looked out over the backyard. Several cats were curled up in the sun. Kate held up her camera and pretended to snap some pictures.

“We have twenty to thirty cats at any given time,” Mark informed them, the door sliding shut as they walked back out into the sun.

“How many employees do you have?” asked Sam, bouncing on the balls of his feet as they proceeded to a larger, lower building, barks emanating from the expanse of wooden fence behind it.

“One full time, one part time, and an army of good volunteers.”

Sam, Kate, and Dean spent the rest of the afternoon at Secondhand Hope. They met the original Hope, now stiff and grey, keeping the office manager company. Sam fell in love with a scruffy, floppy-furred mutt that would chase Frisbees for hours on end.

As they walked back to the gate in the long afternoon shadows, Kate turned to Mark and said, “I’m amazed. I’m simply amazed. You are such a wonderful person.”

He ducked his head a bit with a dry, “Nah. I’m only returning the favor that Hope did for me.”

Dean jumped in with, “Then what does make a person? Because if you aren’t one, I’d sure like to meet them.”

Mark tipped his head back and thought, his shirt collar shifting to show that his tattoo sleeve wrapped all the way around the bottom of his neck. “A good person,” he said slowly, “a good person is someone who puts other people first.”

Kate and Sam and Dean shook Marks hand before sliding back into the Impala. They listened to the rumble of the Impala for a few minutes while Sam picked dog hairs off the legs of his suit.

Kate jumped when Cas popped into existence in the seat next to her. “They are very nice in the Himalayas,” he said out of the blue. “After they ceased trying to worship me as an embodiment of their god- which was very flattering- we had a discussion on goodness. To these men, goodness and spirituality are the same thing. I do not think many people are deeply spiritual.” He frowned.

“S’okay, Cas, I think we’re onto something anyway,” replied Dean. “We’ve been asking everyday people what _they_ think makes a person good, and then we try to find one.”

“An interesting objective. Your plan is to find everyday good people according to the opinion of everyday good people.”

“Sure, Cas, whatever,” said Dean, waving his hand dismissively. “Right now we are looking for someone who puts others before themselves.”

Cas cocked his head to the side like he was listening intently. “I believe you would like to visit Joseph Barnes.”

“Who’s that?” queried Sam.

“A man who puts others first,” Cas replied as though the answer was obvious.  “I hear his prayers.”

It turned out Joe Barnes was a man who had given up a spot on the Olympic track team to care for his sick father. Mr. Barnes was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis when he was in his early thirties, as a young single father.

According to Joe, his father kept working long past the doctors recommended it, skipping his physical therapy to work overtime, paying for Joe’s college. “He gave up everything for me, without a thought. Of course I don’t regret staying here with him. Being here, seeing him, knowing he is being cared for… that’s better than any metal I might, or might not, have won.”

Sam was sitting forward on the edge of his seat. “You never regretted it? Or resented it?” he shook his head ruefully.

Joe pursed his lips, slicking his hands slowly over his short-buzzed hair, just beginning to grey at the temples. “Of course I have regrets. And sometimes at night I wonder… but every morning I remember that I made the right choice. I would do it again.”

“You’re amazing,” said Sam quietly.

“Man, I just told you I have regrets and doubts. I ain’t amazing, I’m a person like you guys.”

“Then what would make someone a good person?” inquired Dean softly from his sagging armchair.

Joe had an immediate response. “Getting up every morning in the face of incredible odds.”

Sam was very quiet in the following car ride.

Four days later, with sixteen left before the final Almighty showdown, the found a woman who fought every day.

She was fighting inside of her own mind, a war no one else could see. When Cas and Kate and the Winchesters met her, she was living in a halfway house for battered women and mothers with children. Cas and the Winchesters weren’t allowed into the building, so the conversation took place on a battered wooden picnic table in the patchy backyard, sturdy perennials struggling to keep blooming despite their surroundings, just like the residents inside.

This woman was soft and small and timid to see, but it became clear that she had a will that could chip diamonds. She battled the scars left by an abusive relationship, wounds no one could see. She talked about how she felt responsible, that she felt that each and every insult and slight and pinch of pain was something brought on herself.

She admitted to wanting to die. She admitted to trying to commit suicide.

And yes she persevered. She was rebuilding her life brick by brick, and she was making herself the foundation under it all. She would live with questions and lingering fear for the rest of her life, but _she would live it._

It killed Dean to walk away without embracing her, but that wasn’t what she needed.

As they said goodbye, she told them that it was her hope for the future- the advocates for change- that kept her going.

~~

It had been thirty days. 2,914 miles. Seventeen interviews. Kate, Cas, Sam and Dean were down to their final minutes, and they still didn’t have a working definition of a good person.

Dean stayed quiet through Sam and Kate’s final debate; through Castiel’s muttered Enochian threats and blasphemes- and when God appeared, he stepped forward.

~~

“Rebellious as always, Dean,” replied God, his mellifluous still managing to sound dry. “I was surprised you and Lucifer didn’t get along better.”

Dean didn’t take the bait. “We spent almost half our time wondering what a good person was to you, what you wanted, what good meant.

And you know what.

There are no good people.

There are only people who try to be good, who do their best and slip up and get right back on that straight and narrow. Because that’s all that matters when the chips are down. At the end of the day, hell, at the end of the life, they tried. Yeah they messed up. Fuck, I’ve messed up so many things I sometimes wonder if I’ve done anything right, but I tried. People try, and that’s more than I can say for you.” Dean fell silent, his eyebrows drawn together, his eyes cold and unblinking.

Kate took her turn. “You gave us free choice. You gave us feelings just to see what we’d do with them. You know what, Yahweh, you’ve never felt what it’s like to be human. To be crushed by emotions so much bigger than yourself.”

“You can’t just decide to destroy everything because it got hard or boring or depressing.” Sam interjected. “That’s not how this works. You made us- you call us and the angels your children, but where have you been? What have you done for us?”

Dean’s voice was even lower now. “This isn’t a question about good people. This is about you living with the guilt of abandoning your world. You’re ashamed of how we turned out. That isn’t our problem. Humanity, as a whole, tries. It perseveres. We struggle through everything, all without any encouragement from you. Why would you ever stop that. You should be proud of us.”

“Father, please.” That was all Cas said. No begging or arguing. He had his angel blade loosely in hand, his feet planted.

God inclined his head. “As for humanity, I cannot really say how I feel. I don’t know if you would comprehend.” To Dean’s left, Kate bristled. God continued on, “But as for you, the Winchesters, Castiel, and Kate… I can say I am proud of you. You presented your case well. You humans do seem to… strive. Always looking up. I believe they will be safe, at least for now.

God disappeared again. Kate and Cas and the brothers looked at each other. They didn’t know where God had gone, or if he would ever make himself known again, and Cas was still coping with the betrayal of his father.

But slowly, slowly, like storm clouds moving away from the sun on a dark, cold day, they grinned at each other. Dean whooped and bear-hugged his brother before pouncing on Cas. Sam spun Kate up in the air, laughing, his dimples flashing deep in his tanned cheeks.

Castiel grinned when Dean grabbed Kate and planted a wet kiss right on her mouth.

It was a good day for the Team Winchester. They’d saved the world and confronted God, and they did it all without killing anyone.

But more than that, more than anything that had happened to them before, this quest gave them hope. It wasn’t much, but it was a tiny sprout slowly growing, and like great tree roots can rip through bricks and cobbles and mortar, this hope was slowly cracking into the shields around their hearts.

There were still battles to be won, doubts and fears to be faced, monster’s to fight, but that was for another day. Those were for another time.

Cas and Sam and Kate and Dean slid into the Impala, the Winchester’s loyal steed and steel-framed home for more than forty years. The engine rumbled, the growl reminiscent of distant battle, looming dragons, trains rumbling in the night.

The drove off, soon merging onto the interstate, heading back across the country without a destination, without a plan. It was a day for the history books, a day the world had been saved by the Winchesters again, but no one knew. No one celebrated their triumph, took their pictures, gave them thanks. History books never recorded how the world almost ended. No one ever knew how close of a thing it had been.

The Winchesters, Kate Monroe, and Castiel- Angel of the Lord- won a battle in a war unseen by the rest of the world. They were veterans with invisible scars, heroes unsung, triumphs unseen. But that day, the day the world did not end, they won something a little more. They united as a family, a family with hope renewed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me. There were several storylines in here I enjoyed exploring, and I hope you were at least mildly entertained. Some of you might think this story ended abruptly, and I wouldn't be able to argue with you. I left this open-ended in cast I want to visit it again later. However, now that I have much more confidence in my writing ability, I'd like to move off to something new and more challenging! Please, for the love of whatever you hold dear, give me feedback. Thank you! -C


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